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TIM, THE 


PARSON 


E. BEDEL' 
BENJAMIN 


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AUTHOR OF 

“Our Roman Pai-auks”; 
Etc., Etc. 





Iknow HU Women BY THESE PRESENTS, That 

while sundry and almost countless imitations of and substitutes for 
Enoch Morgan’s Sons Sapolio are offered by unscrupulous parties, 
who do not hesitate to represent them as the original article, 

ZIbiS Unbenture WITNESSETH, That there is but one 
Sapolio, to wit : — the original article manufactured by the Enoch 
Morgan’s Sons Co., of New York, unsurpassed in quality, unexcelled 
in popularity, and widely known 
not only through its own merits, 
but through the many original 
modes which have been adopted 
to introduce it to the attention of 
the public. Imitation is the sin- 
cerest flattery. Cheapness is a 
poor proof of quality. Cheap im- 
itations are doubly doubtful. The 
most critical communities are the 
most liberal purchasers of Sapolio 
which they invariably find to be 
worth the price they pay for it. 

In Witness Whereof, we hereby 
affix a great seal and our cor- 
porate title. 

ENOCH 



POND’S 

Wonder of Healing! 

For PILES, BURNS, NEU- 
RALGIA, DIARRHCEA, 
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EYES, FEET, INFLAM- 
MATIONS AND HEMOR- 
RHAGES OF ALL KINDS. 

Used Internally and Externally. 

POND’S EXTRACT CO., 
76 5th Ave., Now York. 



EXTRACT. 

CAUTION. — See that 
tlio words “POND’S 
EXTRACT” a e 
blown in each bottle, 
inclosed in a buPT-col- 
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ing our 1 a n scape 
trade-ins t— non' 
other is gei ne. 

Sold ever. ere. 
Price, 50c., t . 5. 

POND’S EXTRACT CO., 
76 5th Ave., New York. 


HAIR 

ON THE 


Permanently Removed by 

DR. WEST’S HAIR REMOVER. 


FACE, 

NECK, 

ARMS. 


An English Toilet Preparation, largely used by ladies in 
Europe. Guaranteed harmless to the skin ; leaves it 
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of price, by 

AMERICAN DRUG CO., BOSTON, MASS.' 





LOVELL’S LIBRARY. 


COMPLETE CATALOGUE BY AUTHORS. 

Lovell’s Library now contains the complete writings of most of the best standard 
authors, such as Dickens, Thackeray, Eliot, Carlyle, Ruskin, Scott, Lytton, Black, etc., 
etc. 

Each number is issued in neat 12mo form, and the type will be found larger, and the 
paper better, than in any other cheap series published. 

JOHN W. LOVELL, COMPANY, 

P. O. Box 1992. 14 and 16 Vesey St., New York. 


BY G. M. ADAM AND A. E. 
WETHERALD 

846 An Algonquin Maiden 

BY MAX ADELER 


.20 


295 Random Shots 20 

825 Elbow Room 20 


BY GUSTAVE AIMARD 

560 The Adventurers 10 

567 The Trail-Hunter 10 

573 Pearl of the Andes 10 

1011 Pirates of the Prairies 10 

1021 The Trapper’s Daughter 10 

1032 The Tiger Slayer 10 

1045 Trappers of Arkansas 10 

1052 Border Rifles 10 

1063 The Freebooters 10 

1069 The White Scalper .10 

BY MRS. ALDERDICE 

846 An Interesting Case 20 

BY MRS. ALEXANDER 

62 The Wooing O’t, 2 Parts, each .15 

99 The Admiral’s Ward 20 

209 The Executor 20 

349 Valerie’s Fate 10 

664 At Bay 10 

746 Beaton’s Bargain 20 

777 A Second Life 20 

199 Maid, Wife, or Widow 10 

840 By Woman’s Wit 20 

995 Which Shall it Be ? 20 


BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN 


419 Fairy Tales 20 

BY EDWIN ARNOLD 

436 The Light of Asia 20 

455 Pearls of the Faith 15 

472 Indian Song of Songs 10 

BY W. E. AYTOUN 

351 Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers 20 

BY ADAM BADEAU 

756 Conspiracy 25 

BY SIR SAMUEL BAKER 

206 Cast up by the Sea. 20 

227 Rifle and Hound in Ceylon 20 

233 Eight Years’ Wandering in Ceylon. . 20 

BY C. W. BALESTIER 

381 A Fair Device 20 

405 Life of J. G. Blaine 20 

BY R. M. BALLANTYNE 

215 The Red Eric 20 

226 The Fire Brigade 20 

239 Erling the Bold 20 

241 Deep Down 20 

BY S. BARING-GOULD 

878 Little Tu’penny 10 

BY GEORGE MIDDLETON BAYNE 

460 Galaski 20 


BY F. ANSTEY 

30 Vice Versk; or, A Lesson to Fathers. .20 


394 Tne Giant’s Robe 20 

453 Black Poodle, and Other Tales 20 

616 The Tinted Venus 15 

755 A Fallen Idol 20 

BY T. S. ARTHUR 

4% Woman’s Trials 20 

507 The Two Wives 15 

518 Married Life 15 

638 The Ways of Providence 15 

545 Home Scenes .15 

554 Stories for Parents 35 

563 Seed-Time and Harvest 15 

568 Words for the Wise 15 

67 4 Stories for Y oung Housekeepers 35 

679 Lessons in Life 15 

682 Off-Hand Sketches 15 

685 Tried and Tempted 15 


BY AUGUST BEBEL 


712 Woman 3t 

BY MRS. E. BEDELL BENJAMIN 

748 Our Roman Palace 

BY A. BENRIMO 

470 Vic 15 

BY E. BERGER 

901 Charles Auchester 20 

BY W. BERGSOE 

77 Pillone 15 


BY E. BERTHET 


366 The Sergeant’s Legacy 20 

BY BJORNSTJERNE BJORNSON 

3 The Happy Boy 10 

4 Arne 10 


1 


LOVELL’S LIBRARY. 


BY WALTER BESANT 


18 They Were Married 10 

108 Let Nothing You Dismay 10 

257 >11 in a Garden Fair 20 

268 When the Ship Comes Home 10 

884 Dorothy Forster 20 

699 Self or Bearer 10 

842 The World Went Very Well Then . .20 

847 The Holy Rose 10 

002 To Call Her Mine 20 

BY WILLIAM BLACK 

10 An Adventure in Thule, etc .10 

48 A Princess of Thule 20 

82 A Daughter of Heth 20 

85 Shandon Bells 20 

98 Macleod of Dare 20 

136 Yolande 20 

142 Strange Adventures of a Phaeton. . . 20 

146 White Wings 20 

153 Sunrise, 2 Parts, each 15 

178 Madcap Violet 20 

180 Kilmeny 20 

182 That Beautiful Wretch 20 

184 Green Pastures, etc 20 

188 In Silk Attire 20 

213 The Three Feathers .... 20 

216 Lady Silverdale’s Sweetheart 10 

217 The Four MacNicols 10 

218 Mr. Pisistratus Brown, M.P 10 

225 Oliver Goldsmith 10 

282 Monarch of Mincing Lane 20 

456 Judith Shakespeare 20 

584 Wise Women of Inverness 10 

678 White Heather 20 

958 Sabina Zembra 20 

BY MISS M. E. BRADDON 

88 The Golden Calf 20 

104 Lady Audley’s Secret 20 

214 Phantom Fortune 20 

266 Under the Red Flag 10 

44 4 An Ishmaelite 20 

555 Aurora Floyd 20 

588 To the Bitter End 20 

696 Dead Sea Fruit 20 

698 The Mistletoe Bough 20 

766 Vixen 20 

783 The Octoroon 20 

814 Mohawks 20 

868 One Thing Needful 20 

869 Barbara; or, Splendid Misery 20 

870 John Marchmont’s Legacy 20 

871 Joshua Haggard’s Daughter 20 

872 Taken at the Flood 20 

873 Asphodel 20 

877 The Doctor’s Wife 20 

878 Only a Clod 20 

879 Sir J asper's Tenant 20 

850 Lady’s Mile 20 

851 Birds of Prey 20 

882 Charlotte’s Inheritance 20 

883 Rupert Godwin 20 

886 Strangers and Pilgrims 20 

887 A Strange World 20 

888 Mount Royal 20 

889 Just As I Am 20 

890 Dead Men’s Shoes 20 

892 Hostages to Fortune 20 

893 Fenton’s Quest 20 

894 The Cloven Foot 20 


2 


BY FRANK BARRETT. 

1009 The Great Hesper 23 

BY R. D. BLACKMORE 

851 Lorna Doone, Part 1 20 

851 Lorna Doone, Part II. 20 

936 Maid of Sker 20 

955 Cradock Nowell, Part 1 20 

955 Cradock Nowell, Part II 20 

961 Springhaven 20 

1034 Mary Anerley 20 

1 035 Alice Lorraine 20 

1036 Cristowell 20 

1037 Clara Vaughan 20 

1038 Cripps the Carrier 20 

1039 Remarkable History of Sir Thomas 

Upmore 20 

1040 Erema ; or, My Father’s Sin 20 

BY LILLIE D. BLAKE 

105 Woman’s Place To-day 20 

597 Fettered for Life 25 

BY ANNIE BRADSHAW 

716 A Crimson Stain 20 

BY CHARLOTTE BREMER 

448 Life of Fredrilca Bremer 20 

BY CHARLOTTE BRONTE 

74 Jane Eyre 20 

897 Shirley 20 


BY RHODA BROUGHTON 

23 Second Thoughts 

230 Belinda 

781 Betty’s Visions 

841 Dr. Cupid 

1022 Good-Bye, Sweetheart 

1023 Red as a Rose is She 

1024 Cometh up as a Flower 

1025 Not Wisely but too Well 

1026 Nancy 

1027 Joan 

BY ELIZABETH BARRETT 
BROWNING 


421 Aurora Leigh 20 

479 Poems 35 

BY ROBERT BROWNING 

552 Selections from Poetical Works 20 

BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 

443 Poems 20 

BY ROBERT BUCHANAN 

318 The New Abelard 20 

696 The Master of the Mine 10 

BY JOHN BUNYAN 

200 The Pilgrim’s Progress 20 

BY ROBERT BURNS 

430 Poems 20 

BY REV. JAS. S. BUSH 

113 More Words about the Bible 20 

BY E. LASSETER BYNNER 

100 Nimport, 2 Parts, each 15 

102 Tritons, 2 Parts, each 15 


20 

20 

15 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 


LOVELL'S LIBRARY 


BY THOMAS CAMPBELL 


526 Poems 20 

BY ROSA NOUCHETE CAREY 

660 For Lilias 20 

911 Not Like other Girls 20 

912 Robert Ord’s Atonement . . 20 

959 Wee Wi fie 20 

960 Wooed and Married 20 

BY WM. CARLETON 

190 Willy Reilly 20 

820 Shane Fadh’s Wedding 10 

821 Larry McFarland’s Wake 10 

822 The Party Fight and Funeral 10 

823 The Midnight Mass 10 

824 Phil Purcel 10 

825 An Irish Oath 10 

826 Going to Maynooth 10 

827 Phelim O’Toole’s Courtship 10 

828 Dominick, the Poor Scholar 10 

829 Neal Malone 10 

BY THOMAS CARLYLE 

486 History of French Revolution, 2 

Parts, each 25 

494 Past and Present 20 

500 The Diamond Necklace ; and Mira- 

beau 15 

503 Chartism 20 

508 Sartor Itesartus 20 

514 Early Kings of Norway 20 

520 Jean Paul Friedrich Richter 10 

522 Goethe, and Miscellaneous Essays. . .10 

525 Life of Heyne 15 

52S Voltaire and Novalis 15 

541 Heroes, and Hero-Worship 20 

546 Signs of the Times 15 

550 German Literature 15 

561 Portraits of John Knox 15 

571 Count Cagliostro, etc 15 

578 Frederick the Great, Vol. I 20 

580 “ “ *• Vol. II 20 

591 “ “ “ Vol. Ill 20 

610 “ “ “ Vol. IV 20 

619 “ “ “ Vol. V 20 

622 “ “ “ Vol. VI 20 

626 “ “ “ Vol. VII 20 

628 “ “ “ Vol. VIII 20 

630 Life of John Sterling 20 

633 Latter-Day Pamphlets 20 

636 Life of Schiller 20 

643 Oliver Cromwell, Vol. 1 25 

646 “ “ Vol. II 25 

649 “ “ Vol. Ill 25 

652 Characteristics and other Essays. . . 15 

(556 Corn Law Rhymes and other Essays. 15 

658 Baillie the Covenanter and other Es- 
says 15 

661 Dr. Francia and other Essays 15 

BY LEWIS CARROLL 

480 Alice’s Adventures 20 

481 Through the Looking-Glass 20 

BY “CAVENDISH” 

422 Cavendish Card Essays 15 

BY CERVANTES 

417 Don Quixote 30 

BY L. W. CHAMPNEY 

119 Bourbon Lilies 20 


BY VICTOR CHERBULIEZ 


Samuel Brohl & Co. . . 2d 

BY BERTHA M. CLAY 

Her Mother’s Sin 20 

Dora Thorne 20 

Beyond Pardon 20 

A Broken Wedding-Ring 20 

Repented at Leisure 20 

Sunshine and Roses 20 

The Earl’s Atonement 20 

A Woman’s Temptation 20 

Love Works Wonders -.20 

Fair but False 10 

Between Two Sins 10 

At War with Herself 15 

Hilda 10 

Her Martyrdom 20 

Lord Lynn’s Choice 10 

The Shadow of a Sin 10 

Wedded and Parted 10 

In Cupid’s Net 10 

Lady Darner’s Secret 20 

A Gilded Sin 10 

Between Two Loves 20 

For Another’s Sin 20 

Romance of a Young Girl 20 

A Queen Amongst Women 10 

A Golden Dawn 10 

Like no Other Love 10 

A Bitter Atonement 20 

Evelyn’s Folly 20 

Set in Diamonds 20 

A Fair My stery 20 

Thorns and Orange Blossoms 10 

Romance of a Black Veil 10 

Love's Warfare 10 

Madolin’s Lover 20 

From Out the Gloom 20 

Which Loved Him Best 10 

A True Magdalen 20 

The Sin of a Lifetime 20 

Prince Charlie’s Daughter 10 

A Golden Heart 10 

Wife in Name Only 20 

A Woman’s Error 20 

Marjorie 20 

A Wilful Maid 20 

Lady Castlemaine’s Divorce 20 

Claribel’s Love Story 20 

Thrown on the World 20 

Under a Shadow . .20 

A Struggle for a Ring 20 

Hilary’s Folly 20 

A Haunted Life 20 

A Woman’s Love Story 20 

A Woman’s War 20 

’Twixt Smile and Tear 20 

Lady Diana’s Pride 20 

Belle of Lynn 20 

Marjorie’s Fate 20 

Sweet Cymbeline. 20 

Redeemed by Love 20 

The Squire’s Darling 10 

The Mystery of Colde Fell 20 

REV. JAS. FREEMAN CLARK 

Anti-Slavery Days 20 

BY S. T. COLERIDGE 

Poems 99 


242 

183 

277 

287 

420 

423 

458 

465 

474 

476 

558 

593 

651 

669 

689 

692 

694 

695 

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701 

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3 


LOVE’LL'S LIBRARY 


BY WILKIE COLLINS 

8 The Moonstone, Part I 

9 The Moonstone, Part II 

24 The New Magdalen 

87 Heart and Science 

418 “I Say No” 

437 Tales of Two Idle Apprentices 

683 The Ghost’s Touch 

686 My Lady’s Money 

7*22 The Evil Genius 

839 The Guilty River 

957 The Dead Secret 

956 The Queen of Hearts 

1003 The Haunted Hotel 

BY HUGH CONWAY 

429 Called Back 

462 Dark Days 

612 Curriston’s Gift 

617 Paul Vargas: a Mystery 

631 A Family Affair 

667 Story of a Sculptor 

672 Slings and Arrows 

715 A Cardinal Sin 

745 Living or Dead 

750 Somebody’s Story 

968 Bound by a Spell 

BY J. FENIMOBE COOPER 

6 The Last of the Mohicans 

53 The Spy 

S65 The Pathfinder 

S78 Homeward Bound 

441 Home as Found 

463 The Deerslayer. . 

467 The Prairie V 

471 The Pioneer 

484 The Two Admii-als 

488 The Water- Witch 

491 The Red Rover 

501 The Pilot 

506 Wing and Wing 

512 Wyandotte 

517 Heidenmauer 

519 The Headsman 

624 The Bravo 

527 Lionel Lincoln 

529 Wept of Wish-ton-Wish 

632 Afloat and Ashore 

539 Miles Walliner ford 

543 The Monikins 

548 Mercedes of Castile . 

553 The Sea Lions 

559 The Crater 

662 Oak Openings 

570 Satanstoe 

576 The Chain-Bearer 

587 Ways of the Hour 

601 Precaution . . . , 

603 Redskins 

611 Jack Tier 

BY EINAHAN CORNWALLIS 

409 Adrift with a Vengeance 

BY THE COUNTESS 

1028 A Passion Flower 

1041 The World Between Them 

BY GEGRGIANA M. CRAIK 

1006 A Daughter of the People 


BY E. CEISWELL 

350 Grandfather Lickf.hingle 24 

BY B. H. DANA, JB. 

464 Two Years before the Mast 20 

BY DANTE 

345 Dante’s Vision of Hell, Purgatory, 

and Paradise 20 

BY FLOBA A. DABBING 

260 Mrs. Darling’s War Letters 20 

BY JOYCE DABEELL 

315 Winifred Power 20 

BY ALPHONSE DAUBET 

478 Tartarin of Taraseon 20 

604 Sidonie 20 

613 Jack 20 

615 The Little Good-for-Nothing 20 

645 The Nabob .25 

BY REV. C. H. DAVIES, D.D. 

453 Mystic London 20 

BY THE DEAN OF ST. PAUL’S 

431 Life of Spenser 10 

BY C. DEBANS 

475 A Sheep in Wolfs Clothing 20 

BY REV. C. F. DEEMS, D.D. 

704 Evolution 20 

BY DANIEL DEFOE 

428 Robinson Crusoe 25 

BY THOS. DE QUINCEY 

20 The Spanish Nun 10 

BY CHARLES DICKENS 

10 Oliver Twist 20 

38 A Tale of Two Cities 20 

75 Child’s History of England 20 

91 Pickwick Papers, 2 Parts, each 20 

140 The Cricket on the Hearth 10 

144 Old Curiosity Shop, 2 Parts, each... 15 

150 Barnaby Rudge, 2 Parts, each 15 

158 David Copperfield, 2 Parts, each 20 

170 Hard Times 20 

192 Great Expectations .. . 20 

201 Martin Chuzzlewit, 2 Parts, each. . ..20 

210 American Notes 20 

219 Dombey and Son. 2 Parts, each 20 

223 Little Dorrit, 2 Parts, each 20 

228 Our Mutual Friend. 2 Parts, each. . .20 

231 Nicholas Nickleby, 2 Parts, each. . . .20 

234 Pictures from Italy 10 

237 The Boy at Mugby 10 

244 Bleak House, 2 Parts, each 20 

246 Sketches of the Young Couples 10 

261 Master Humphrey’s Clock 10 

267 The Haunted House, etc 10 

270 The Mudfog Papers, etc 10 

273 Sketches by Boz 20 

274 A Christmas Carol, etc 15 

282 Uncommercial Traveller 20 

288 Somebody’s Luggage, etc 10 

293 The Battle of Life, etc 10 

297 Mystery of Edwin Drood 20 

298 Reprinted Pieces 20 

302 No Thoroughfare 15 

437 Tales of Two Idle Apprentices 10 


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4 


LOVELL'S LIBRARY 


BY CARL DETLEF 

27 Irene; or, The Lonely Manor 20 

BY PROF. BOWDEN 

404 Life of Southey 10 

BY JOHN DRYDEN 

498 Poems 80 

BY DU BOISGOBEY 

1018 Condemned Door 20 

BY THE “DUCHESS” 

68 Portia 20 

76 Molly Bavvn 20 

78 Phyllis 20 

86 Monica .10 

90 Mrs. Geoffrey 20 

92 Airy Fairy Lilian 20 

126 Loys, Lord Beresford 20 

182 Moonshine and Marguerites 10 

162 Faith and Unfaith 20 

168 Beauty’s Daughters 20 

284 Itossrnoyne 20 

451 Doris 20 

477 A Week in Killarncy 10 

680 In Durance Vile 10 

618 Dick’s Sweetheart ; or, *• O Tender 

Dolores” 20 

621 A Maiden all Forlorn 10 

624 A Passive Crime 10 

721 Lady Branksmere 20 

735 A Men tal Str u ggle 20 

737 The Haunted Chamber 10 

792 Her Week’s Amusement 10 

802 Lady Valworth’s Diamonds 20 

BY LORD DUFFERIN 

95 Letters from High Latitudes 20 

BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS 

761 Count of Monte Cristo, Part 1 20 

761 Count of Monte Cristo, Part II 20 

775 The Three Guardsmen 20 

786 Twenty Years After 20 

884 The Son of Monte Cristo, Part I 20 

884 The Son of Monte Cristo, Part II.. .20 

885 Monte Cristo and His Wife 20 

891 Countess of Monte Cristo, Part I. . .20 

891 Countess of Monte Cristo, Part II... 20 

998 BeauTancr^de 20 

BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS, JR. 

992 Camille 10 

BY MRS. ANNIE EDWARDS 

681 A Girton Girl 20 

BY GEORGE ELIOT 

66 Adam Bede, 2 Parts, each 15 

69 Amos Barton 10 

71 Silas Marner 10 

79 Romola, 2 Parts, each 15 

149 Janet’s Repentance 10 

151 Felix Holt 20 

174 Middlemarch, 2 Parts, each 20 

195 Daniel Deronda, 2 Parts, each 20 

202 Theophrastus Such 10 

205 The Spanish Gypsy.and other Poems20 

207 The Mill on the Floss, 2 Parts, each. 15 

208 Brother Jacob, etc 10 

374 Essays, and Leaves from a Note- 

Book . . 20 


| BY M. BETHAM-EDWARDS 


203 Disarmed 15 

663 The Flower of Doom 10 

1005 Next of Kin 20 

BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON 

373 Essays 20 

ENGLISH MEN OF LETTERS. 
EDITED BY JOHN MORLEY 

348 Banyan, by J. A. Froude 10 

407 Burke, by John Morley 10 

334 Burns, by Principal Shairp 10 

347 Byron, by Professor Nichol 10 

413 Chaucer, by Prof. A. W. Ward 10 

424 Cowper, by Goldwin Smith 10 

377 Defoe, by William Minto 10 

383 Gibbon, by J. C. Morrison 10 

225 Goldsmith, by William BlaGk 10 

369 Hume, by Professor Huxley 10 

401 Johnson, by Leslie Stephen 10 

3S0 Locke, by Thomas Fowler 10 

392 Milton, by Mark Pattison 10 

398 Pope, by Leslie Stephen 10 

864 Scott, by R. H. Hutton 10 

361 Shelley, by J. Symonds 10 

404 Southey, by Professor Dowden 10 

431 Spenser, by the Dean of St. Paul’s. . 10 
844 Thackeray, by Anthony Trollope. . .10 
410 Wordsworth, by F. Myers 10 

BY B. L. FARJEON 

243 Gautran ; or, House of White Shad- 
ows 20 

654 Love’s Harvest 20 

856 Golden Bells 10 

874 Nine of Hearts 20 

BY HARRIET FARLEY 

473 Christmas Stories 20 

BY F. W. FARRAR, D.D. 

1 9 Seekers af ter God 20 

50 Early Days of Christianity, 2 Parts, 

each 20 

BY GEORGE MANNVILLE FENN 

1004 This Man’s Wife 20 

BY OCTAVE FEUILLET 

41 A Marriage in High Life 20 

987 Romance of a Poor Young Man .... 10 

BY FRIEDRICH. BARON DE LA 

MOTTE FOUQUE 

711 Undine 10 

BY MRS. FORRESTER 

760 Fair Women 20 

818 Once Again 20 

843 My Lord and My Lady 20 

844 Dolores 20 

850 My Hero 20 

859 Viva 20 

860 Omnia Vanitas 10 

801 Diana Carew 20 

862 From Olympus to Hades 29 

863 Rhona 20 

864 Roy and Viola 20 

865 June 20 

866 Mignon 20 

867 A Young Man’s Fancy 20 


LOVELl/S LIBRARY 


BY THOMAS FOWLER 

880 Life of Locke 10 

BY FRANCESCA 

177 The Story of Ida 10 

BY R. E. FRANCILLON 

319 A Real Queen 20 

856 Golden Bells 10 

BY ALBERT FRANKLYN 

122 Ameline de Bourg 15 

BY L. VIRGINIA FRENCH 

teSo My Roses 20 

BY J. A. FROUBE 

348 Life of Bunyan 10 

BY EMILE GABORIAU 

114 Monsieur Lecoq, 2 Parts, each 20 

116 The Lerouge Case 20 

120 Oth er People 1 s Money 20 

129 In Peril of His Life 20 

138 The Gilded Clique 20 

155 Mystery of Orcival 2U 

101 Promise of Marriage 10 

258 Pile No. 113 ...20 

BY HENRY GEORGE 

52 Progress and Poverty 20 

890 Land Question 10 

393 Social Problems 20 

796 Property in Land 15 

BY CHARLES GIBBON 

67 The Golden Shaft 20 

BY J. W. VON GOETHE 

342 Goethe's Faust 20 

343 Goethe’s Poems 20 

BY NIKOLAI V. GOGOL 

1016 Taras Bulla 20 

BY OLIVER GOLDSMITH 

, 61 Vicar of Wakefield 10 

^362 Plays and Poems 20 

BY MRS. GORE 

‘ 89 The Dean’s Daughter .20 

BY JAMES GRANT 

49 The Secret Despatch 20 

BY HENRI GREVILLE. 

1C01 Frankley 20 

BY CECIL GRIFFITH 

732 Victory Deane 20 

BY ARTHUR GRIFFITHS 

709 No. 99 10 

THE BROTHERS GRIMM 

221 Fairy Tales, Illustrated 20 

BY LIEUT. J. W. GUNNISON 

440 History of the Mormons 15 

BY ERNST HAECKEL 

97 India and Ceylon 20 

BY MARION HARLAND 

107 Housekeeping and Homemaking. ... 15 


6 


BY F. W. HACKLANDER 

606 Forbidden Fruit 20 

BY H. RIDER HAGGARD 

813 King Solomon’s Mines 20 

848 She 20 

876 The Witch’s Head 20 

900 Jess 20 

941 Dawn 20 

1020 Allan Quatermain 20 

BY A. EGMONT HAKE 

371 The Story of Chinese Gordon 20 

BY LUDOVIC HALEVY 

15 L’Abbe Constantin 20 

BY THOMAS HARDY 

43 Two on a Tower 20 

157 Romantic Adventures of a Milk- 
maid 10 

749 The Mayor of Casterbridge 20 

956 The Woodlanders 20 

964 Far from the Madding Crowd 20 

BY JOHN HARRISON AND M. 
COMPTON 

414 Over the Summer Sea 20 

BY J. B. HARWOOD 

269 One False, both Fair 20 

BY JOSEPH HATTON 

7 Clytie 20 

137 Cruel London 20 

BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 

370 Twice Told Tales 20 

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590 Old Myddleton’s Money 20 

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973 Dorothy’s Venture 20 

974 My First Offer 10 

975 Back to the Old Home 10 

976 For Her Dear Sake 20 

977 Hidden Perils 20 

978 Victor and Vanquished 20 

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583 Poems 30 

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533 Principles and Fallacies of Social- 
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356 Hygiene of the Brain 25 

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743 A Woman’s Vengeance 20 

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73 Life of Cromwell 15 

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LOVELL’S LIBRARY. 


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86 Life of Marion 20 

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0"0 Against Her Will 20 

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742 Social Solutions, Part 1 10 

747 “ “ Part II 10 

758 “ “ Part III. . 10 

762 “ “ Part IV 10 

765 “ “ PartV 10 

774 “ " Part VI 10 

778 u “ Part VII 10 

782 “ “ Part VIII 10 

785 “ “ Part IX 10 

788 “ “ Part X 10 

791 “ “ Part XI 10 

795 “ “ Part XII 10 

BY MARIE HOWLAND 

534 Papa’s Own Girl 30 

BY JOHN W. HOYT, LL.D. 

535 Studies in Civil Service 15 

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61 Tom Brown’R School Days 20 

186 Tom Brown at Oxford, 2 Parts, each . 15 

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S69 Life of Hume 10 

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109 The Spoopendyke Papers 20 

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784 Les Miserables, Part 1 20 

784 “ “ Part II. 20 

784 “ “ PartHI 20 

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364 Life of Scott 20 

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147 The Sketch Book 20 

198 Tales of a Traveller 20 

199 Life and Voyages of Columbus, 

Part 1 20 

Life and Voyages of Columbus, 

Part II 20 

224 Abbotsford and Newstead Abbey . . .10 
236 Knickerbocker History of New York. 20 

249 The Crayon Papers 20 

263 The Alhambra 15 

272 Conquest of Granada 20 

279 Conquest of Spain 10 

281 Bracebridge Hall 20 

290 Salmagundi 20 

299 Astoria 20 

301 Spanish Voyages 20 

305 A Tour on the Prairies 10 

308 Life of Mahomet, 2 Parts, each 15 

310 Oliver Goldsmith 20 

311 Captain Bonneville 20 

314 Moorish Chronicles 10 

321 Wolf erf s Jtost and Miscellanies 10 


BY HARRIET JAY 

17 The Dark Colleen .20 

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44 Rasselas 10 

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754 A Modern Midas 20 

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531 Poems 25 

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111 Labor and Capital 20 

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106 Dunallan, 2 Parts, each 15 

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67 Horse-Shoe Robinson, 2 Parts, each . 15 

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39 The Hermits 20 

64 Hypatia, 2 Parts, each 15 

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726 Austin Eliot .20 

728 The Hillyars and Burtons 20 

731 Leighton Court 20 

736 Geoffrey Hamlyn 30 

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254 Peter the Whaler 20 

322 Mark Sea worth 20 

824 Round the World 20 

835 The Young Foresters 20 

337 Saltwater 20 

338 The Midshipman 20 

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454 The Golden Dog 40 

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445 The Rival Doctors 20 

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25 Divorce 20 

600 A Brighton Night 20 

725 Dr. Wilmer’s Love 25 

741 Lorimer and Wife 20 

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797 A Phantom Lover 10 

798 Prince of the Hundred Soups 10 

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469 The Chase 20 

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327 Harry Lorrequer 20 

789 Charles O’Malley, 2 Parts, each 20 

794 Tom Burke of Ours, 2 Parts, each. .20 

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1 Hyperion 20 

2 Outre-Mer 20 

482 Poems 20 

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163 The Happy Man .10 

719 Rory O’More 20 

849 Handy Andy 2C 


7 


LOVELL’S LIBRARY. 


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817 The Cruise of the Black Prince. . . .20 

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275 lone Stewart 20 

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12 Leila 10 

81 Ernest Maltravers 20 

82 The Haunted House. 10 

45 Alice: A Sequel to Ernest Maltra- 
vers 20 

55 A Strange Story 20 

59 Last Days of Pompeii 20 

81 Zanoni > 20 

84 Night and Morning, 2 Parts, each. .15 

117 Paul Clifford 20 

121 Lady of Lyons .10 

128 Money 30 

152 Richelieu 1C 

160 Rienzi, 2 Parts, each 15 

176 Pelham 20 

204 Eugene Aram 20 

222 The Disowned 20 

240 Kenelm Chillingly 20 

245 What Will He Do with It ? 2 Parts, 

pfioh 90 

247 De vereux*. . *.*.*.".**".*.**.*.*.!! 1 !!!!! J I ! 20 

250 The Caxtons, 2 Parts, each 15 

258 Lucretia 20 

255 Last of the Barons, 2 Parts, each ... 15 

259 The Parisians, 2 Parts, each 20 

271 My Novel, 3 Parts, each 20 

276 Harold, 2 Parts, each 15 

289 Godolphin 20 

294 Pilgrims of the Rhine 15 

317 Pausanias 15 

$Y LORD MACAULAY 

333 Lays of Ancient Rome 20 

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^898 Joan Wentworth 20 

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771 The Old Mam’selle’s Secret 20 

1029 Gold Elsie 20 

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212 The Privateersman 20 

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853 Tales of the French Revolution 15 

354 Loom and Lugger 20 

357 Berkeley the Banker 20 

358 Homes Abroad 15 

363 For Each and For All 15 

372 Hill and Valley 35 

379 The Charmed Sea 15 

388 Life in the Wilds 35 

395 Sowers not Rea pers 15 

400 Glen of the Echoes 15 


BY FLORENCE MARRYAT. 


903 The Master Passion 20 

904 A Lucky Disappointment 10 

905 Her Lord and Master 20 

906 My Own Child 20 

907 No Intentions 20 

908 Written in Fire 20 

909 A Little Stepson 10 

910 With Cupid’s Eyes 20 

931 Why Not? 20 

937 My Sister the Actress 20 

938 Captain Norton’s Diary 1C 

939 Girls of Feversham ... .20 

940 The Root of all Evil 20 

9 12 Facing the Footlights 20 

943 Petronel 20 

944 A Star and a Heart 10 

945 Ange 20 

946 A Harvest of Wild Oats 20 

947 The Poison of Asps 10 

948 Fair-Haired Alda 20 

949 The Heir Presumptive. ... 20 

950 Under the Lilies and Roses 20 

951 Heart of Jane Warner 20 

952 Love’s Conflict, Parti 20 

952 Love’s Conflict, Part II 20 

953 Phyllida 2Q 

954 Out of His Reckoning 10 

979 Her World against a Lie 20 

990 Open Sesame 20 

991 Mad Dumaresq 20 

999 Fighting the Air 20 

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165 Eyre's Acquittal 10 

1046 Cornin’ Thro’ the Rye 20 

1047 Sam’s Sweetheart 20 

1048 Story of a Sin 20 

1049 Cherry Ripe 20 

1050 My Lady Green Sleeves 20 

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46 DukeofKandos 20 

60 The Two Duchesses 20 

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76 The Berber 20 

by j. h. McCarthy 

115 An Outline of IrLh History 10 

by justin McCarthy, m.p. 

278 Maid of Athens 20 

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328 How It All Came Round 20 

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331 Lucile 20 

BY JOHN MILTON 

389 Paradise Lost 20 

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377 Life of Defoe 10 

BY MRS. MOLESWORTH 

1008 Marrying and Giving in Marriage . .10 

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416 Lalla Rookh 20 

487 Poems 40 

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407 Life of Burke 10 

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139 Pike County Folks 20 

BY ALAN MUIR 

312 Golden Girls 20 

BY LOUISA MUHLBACH 

1000 Frederick the Great and his Court. .30 

1014 The Daughter of an Empress 30 

1033 Goethe and Schiller 30 

BY MAX MULLER 

130 India : What Can It Teach Us ? .... 20 

BY DAVID CHRISTIE MURRAY 

197 By the Gate of the Sea 15 

758 Cynic Fortune 10 

BY F. MYERS 

410 Life of Wordsworth 10 

BY MISS MULOCK 

33 John Halifax 20 

435 Miss Tommy 15 

751 King Arthur 20 

BY FLORENCE NEELY 

564 Hand-Book for the Kitchen 20 

BY REV. R. H. NEWTON 

83 Bight and Wrong TJ ses of ihe Bible . . 20 

BY JOHN NICHOL 

347 Life of Byron 10 

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375 Science at Home 20 

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108 No New Thing 20 

592 That Terrible Man 10 

779 My Friend Jim 10 

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439 Noctes Ambrosian® 30 

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1 96 Altiora Peto 20 

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124 The Ladies Lindorcs 20 

179 The Little Pilgrim 10 

175 Sir Tom 20 

326 The Wizard’s Son 25 

368 Old Lady Mary 10 

602 Oliver’s Bride 10 

717 A Country Gentleman 20 

831 The Son of his Father 20 

920 John • a Love Story 20 

925 A Poor Gentleman 20 

994 Lucy Crcfton 10 

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127 Under Two Flags, 2 Parts, each. . . . 20 

387 Princess Napraxine 25 

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763 Moths 20 

790 Oth mar 20 

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052 Friendship 20 

853 In Maremma 20 

854 Signa 20 

855 Pascarel .... 20 


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336 John Bull and His Island 29 

459 John Bull and His Daughters 20 

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655 Integral Co-operation 30 

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42 Robin 20 

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392 Life of Milton 10 

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187 Thicker than Water 20 

330 The Canon’s Ward 20 

659 Luck of the Darrells 20 

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1015 Pemberton 3(l 


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403 Poems 

426 Narrative of A. Gordon Pym 

432 Gold Bug, and Other Tales 

438 The Assignation, and Other Tales 
447 The Murders in the Rue Morgue. . 

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406 The Theory of the Modern Scien- 


tific Game of Whist 15 

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391 Homer’s Odyssey 20 

396 Homer’s Iliad 30 

457 Poems 30 

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189 Scottish Chiefs, Part 1 20 

Scottish Chiefs, Part II 20 

382 Thaddeus of Warsaw 25 

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838 The George-Hewitt Campaign 20 

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339 Poems 20 

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1010 Mrs. Gregory 20 


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28 Singleheart and Doubleface... 

415 A Perilous Secret 

759 Foul Play 

773 Put Yourself in his Place 

913 Griffith Gaunt. 

914 A Terrible Temptation 

915 Very Hard Cash 

916 It is Never Too Late to Mend . 

917 The Knightsbridge Mystery . . 

918 A Woman Hater 

919 Readiana ... 

BY REBECCA FERGUS REDD 

16 Freckles 20 

408 The Brierfield Tragedy 20 

BY “ RITA ” 

656 Dame Durden 2(1 

599 Like Dian’s Kiss 2S 

BY SIR H. ROBERTS 

101 Harry Holbrooke 2? 


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lo yell’s library. 


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184 Arden 15 

BY REGINA MARIA ROCHE 

411 Children of the Abbey 30 

BY BLANCHE ROOSEVELT 

837 Marked “ In Haste ” 20 

BY DANTE ROSSETTI 

829 Poems 20 

BY MRS. ROWSON 

1B9 Charlotte Temple 10 

BY JOHN RUSKIN 

497 Sesame and Lilies 10 

606 Crown of Wild Olives 10 

610 Ethics of the Dust 10 

616 Queen of the Air 10 

621 Seven Lamps of Architecture 20 

687 Lectures on Architecture and Paint- 

ing 15 

642 Stones of Venice, 3 Vols., each 25 

566 Modern Painters, Vol. 1 20 

672 “ 44 Vol. II 20 

677 “ “ Vol. Ill 20 

689 « “ Vol. IV 25 

008 44 44 Vol. V 25 

598 King of the Golden River 10 

623 U nto this Last 10 

627 Munera Pulveris 15 

637 “A Joy Forever” 15 

639 The Pleasures of England 10 

642 The Two Paths 20 

644 Lectures on Art 15 

677 Aratra Pentelici 15 

650 Time and Tide 15 

665 Mornings in Florence 15 

668 St. Mark’s Rest 15 

670 Deucalion 15 

673 Art of England 15 

676 Eagle’s Nest 15 

679 4 ‘ Our Fathers Have Told Us ” 15 

682 Proserpina 15 

685 Val d’Arno 15 

688 Love’s Meinie 15 

707 Fors Clavigera, Part I. 30 

708 “ “ Part IT 30 

713 44 44 Part III 30 

714 44 44 Part IV 30 

BY W. CLARK RUSSELL 

123 A Sea Queen 20 

399 John Holdsworth 20 

833 A Voyage to the Cape. 20 

834 Jack’s Courtship 20 

835 A Sailor’s Sweetheart 20 

836 On the Fo’k’sle Head 20 

997 1 The Golden Hope 20 

BY DORA RUSSELL 

816 The Broken Seal 20 

BY GEORGE SAND 

135 The Tower of Percemont 20 

965 The Lilies of Florence 20 

BY MRS. W. A. SAVILLE 

27 Social Etiquette 15 

BY J. X. B. SAINTINE 

110 Picciola......... 10 


BY J. C. F. VON SCHILLER 


341 Schiller’s Poems 26 

BY MICHAEL SCOTT 

171 Tom Cringle’s Log 20 

BY SIR WALTER SCOTT 

145 Ivanhoe, 2 Parts, each 15 

359 Lady of the Lake, with Notes 20. 

489 Bride of Larnmermoor 20 

490 Black Dwarf 10 

492 Castle Dangerous 15 

493 Legend of Montrose 15 

495 The Surgeon’s Daughter 10 

499 Heart of Mid-Lothian 30 

502 Waverley . 20 

504 Fortunes of Nigel 20 

509 Peveril of the Peak 30 

515 The Pirate 20 

536 Poetical Works 40 

544 Redgauntlet 25 

551 Woodstock 20 

557 Count Robert of Paris 20 

669 The Abbot 20 

575 Quentin Durward 20 

581 The Talisman 20 

586 St. Ronan’s Well 20 

595 Anne of Geierstein 20 

605 Aunt Margaret’s Mirror 10 

607 Chronicles of the Canongate 15 

609 The Monastery 20 

620 GuyMannering 20 

625 Kenilworth 25 

629 The Antiquary 20 

632 Rob Roy.... 20 

635 The Betrothed 20 

638 Fair Maid of Perth 20 

641 Old Mortality 20 

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22 Fleurette 20 

BY PRINCIPAL SHAIRP 

334 Life of Burns 10 

BY MARY W. SHELLEY 

5 Frankenstein 10 

BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 

549 Complete Poetical Works 30 

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191 The Nautz Family. 20 

BY WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS 

640 The Partisan 30 

648 Mellichampe 30 

653 The Yemassee 30 

657 Katherine Walton 30 

662 Southward Ho 1 30 

671 The Scout 30 

674 The Wigwam and Cabin. . 30 

C77 Vasconselos 30 

680 Confession 30 

684 Woodcraft 80 

687 Richard Hurdis ... .30 

690 Guy Rivers 30 

693 Border Beagles 30 

697 The Forayers 30 

702 Charlemont 30 

703 Eutaw 30 

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924 Ivarma 20 

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7S0 Bad to Beat 10 

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425 Self-Help 25 

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694 A Summer in Skye 20 

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110 False Hopes 15 

424 Life of Cowper 10 

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65 Selma... 15 

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248 Life of Webster, 2 Parts, each 15 

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449 Quisiana 20 

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896 Life of Pope 10 

401 Life of Johnson 10 

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461 Socialism 10 

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767 Kidnapped 20 

768 Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. 

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769 Prince Otto 10 

770 The Dynamiter 20 

793 N ew Arabian Nights 20 

819 Treasure Island 20 

921 The Merry Men 20 

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729 In Prison and Out 20 

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772 Mysteries of Paris, 2 Parts, each . . .20 
776 The Wandering Jew, 2 Parts, each .20 

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446 Poems 40 

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141 Henry Esmond 20 

143 Denis Dwval 20 

148 Catherine 10 

156 Lovel, the Widower 10 

164 Barry Lyndon 20 

172 Vanity Fair 30 

193 History of Pendennis, 2 Parts, each..20 

211 The Newcomes, 2 Parts, each 20 

220 Book of Snobs 10 

229 Paris Sketches 20 

235 Adventures of Philip, 2 Parts, each . . 15 

238 The Virginians, 2 Parts, each 20 

252 Critical Reviews, etc 10 

256 Eastern Sketches 10 

262 Fatal Boots, etc 10 

264 The Four Georges 10 

280 Fitzboodle Papers, etc 10 

283 Roundabout Papers 20 

285 A Legend of the Rhine, etc 10 

286 Cox’s Diary, etc 10 

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296 Men’s Wives 10 

300 Novels by Eminent Hands 10 

303 Character Sketches, etc 10 

304 Christmas Books 20 

306 Ballads 15 

307 Yellowplush Papers 10 

309 Sketches and Travels in London. ... 10 

313 English Humorists 15 

316 Great Hoggarty Diamond IQ 

320 The Rose and the Ring 10 

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94 Tempest Tossed, Part II 20 

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133 Mr. Scarborough’s Family, 2 Parts, 

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251 Autobiography of Anthony Trollope.20 

344 Life of Thackeray 10 

367 An Old Man’s Love 15 

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895 Moonshine 20 

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468 The Count of Talavera 20 

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540 Poems 25 

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154 Tour of the World in Eighty Days. . 20 

166 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea 20 

185 The Mysterious Island, 3 Parts, each.15 

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355 More Leaves from a Life in tke High- 
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1055 Mr. Smith 20 

1056 The History of a Week 10 

1057 The Baby's Grandmother 20 

1058 Troublesome Daughter 20 

1059 Cousins 20 

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13 The Three Spaniards 20 

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413 Life of Chaucer 10 

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757 Doris’ Fortune 10 

980 At the World’s Mercy 10 

981 The House on the Marsh 20 

982 Deldee 20 

983 A Prince of Darkness 20 

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“ “ “ PartHI ....20 

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427 Life of Grover Cleveland 20 

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614 At a High Price 20 

734 Yineta 20 

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902 The Mystery 20 

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194 Widow Bedott Papers 20 

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450 Poems 20 

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723 Running the Gauntlet 20 

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858 A Modern Telemachus 20 

899 Love and Life 20 

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666 Barbara’s Rival 20 

691 A Woman’s Honor 20 

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37 Paul and Virginia 10 

47 Baron Munchausen 10 

63 The Vendetta, by Balzac 20 

66 Margaret and her Bridesmaids 20 

72 Queen of the County 20 

98 The Gypsy Queen 20 

118 A New Lease of Life .20 

169 Beyond the Sunrise 20 

181 Whist, or Bumblepuppy ? 10 

360 Modern Christianity a Civilized 

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265 Plutarch’s Lives, 5 Parts, each 20 

291 Famous Funny Fellows 20 

323 Life of Paul Jones 20 

332 Every-Day Cook-Book 20 

340 Clayton’s Rangers 20 

385 Swiss Family Robinson 20 

386 Childhood of the World 10 

397 Arabian Nights’ Entertainments. . . .25 
402 How He Reached the White House. 25 

433 Wrecks in the Sea of Life 20 

434 Typhaines Abbey 25 

483 The Child Hunters 15 

857 A Wilful Young Woman 20 

966 The Story of Our Mess 20 

967 The Three Bummers 20 

1019 Soeur Louise ... .20 


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LATEST 

1002 To Call Her Mine, by W. Besant.20 

1003 The Haunted Hotel, by W. Collins. 10 

1004 This Man’s Wife, by G. M. Fenn. .20 

1005 Next of Kin Wanted, by M. Beth- 

am-Ed wards 20 

1006 A Daughter of the People, by 

Georgiana M. Craik 20 

1007 Redeemed by Love, by B. M. Clay.20 

1008 Marrying and Giving in Marriage, 

by Mrs. Molesworth 10 

1009 The Great Hesper, by F. Barrett..20 

1010 Mrs. Gregory, by Agnes Ray 20 

1011 Pirates of the Prairies, by Aimard.10 

1012 The Squire’s Darling, by Clay... 10 

1013 The Mystery of Colde Fell, by Clay.20 

1014 The Daughter of an Empress, by 

Louisa Muhlbach 30 

1015 Pemberton, by Henry Peterson... 30 

1016 Taras Bulba, by Nikolai V. Gogol.. 20 

1017 A Vital Question, by Nikolai G. 

Tchernuishevsky . 30 

1018 The Condemned Door, by F. du 

Boisgobey 20 

1019 Soeur Louise (Louise de Bruneval)20 

1020 Allan Quatermain, by Haggard. . . 20 

1021 The Trapper’s Daughter, by 

Gustave Aimard 10 

1022 Good-Bye, Sweetheart, by Rhoda 

Broughton 20 

1023 Red as a Rose is She, by Rhoda 

Broughton 20 

1024 Cometh up as a Flower, by Rhoda 

Broughton ..." 20 

1025 Not Wisely, But Too Well, by 

Rhoda Broughton 20 

1026 Nancy, by Rhoda Broughton 20 

1027 Joan, by Rhoda Broughton 20 

1028 A Near Relation, by Coleridge 20 

1029 Brenda Yorke, by Mary Cecil Hay. 10 

1030 On Her Wedding Morn, by Clay. . 10 

1031 The Shattered Idol, by B. M. Clay. 10 

1032 The Tiger Slayer, by G. Aimard.. 10 

1033 Letty Leigh, by Bertha M. Clay... 10 

1034 Mary Anerley.by R. D. Blackmore.20 

1035 Alice Lorraine, by Blackmore 20 

1036 Christowell, byR. D. Blackmore.. 20 

1037 Clara Vaughan, by Blackmore.. . .20 

1038 Cripps, the Carrier, by Blackmore.20 

1039 Remarkable History of Sir Thomas 

Upmore, by R. D. Blackmore ... 20 

1040 Erema ; or, My Father’s Sin, by 

R. D. Blackmore 20 

1041 The Mystery of the Holly Tree, by 

Bertha M. Clay 10 

1042 The Earl’s Error, by B. M. Clay. .10 

1043 Arnold’s Promise, by B. M. Clay.. 10 

1044 Forging the Fetters, by Alexander.10 

1045 The Trappers of Arkansas, by 

Gustave Aimard 10 


ISSUE8< 

1046 Cornin’ thro’ the Rye, by Mathers. 20 

1047 Sam’s Sweetheart, by Mathers. . . .20 

1048 Story of a Sin, by H. B. Mathers..20 

1049 Cherry Ripe, by H. B. Mathers.. .20 

1050 My Lady Green Sleeves, Mathers.. 20 

1051 An Unnatural Bondage, by Clay. .10 

1052 Border Rifles, by Gustave Aimard.10 

1053 Gold Elsie, by E. Marlitt 20 

1054 Goethe and Schiller, by Muhlbach. 30 

1055 Mr. Smith, by L. B. Walford 20 

1056 The History of a W T eek,by Walford.10 

1057 The Baby’s Grandmother, by L. B. 

Walford . . 20 

1058 Troublesome Daughters, by L. B. 

Walford 20 

1059 Cousins, by L. B. Walford .. 20 

1060 Tbe Bag of Diamonds, by Fenn. .20 

1061 Red Spider, by S. Baring-Gould. .20 

1062 Dick’s Wandering, by J. Sturgis..20 

1063 The Freebooters, by G. Aimard. ..10 

1064 The Duke’s Secret, by B. M. Clay .20 

1065 A Modern Circe, by The Duchess. 20 

1066 An American Journey, by Aveling.30 

1067 Geoffrey Moncton, by S. Moodie..30 

1068 Flora Lyndsay, by S. Moodie 20 

1069 Tbe White Scalper, by G. Aimard.10 

1070 Confessions of an English Opium 

Eater, by Thomas de Quincey. . .20 

1071 Guide of the Desert, by Aimard. .10 

1072 “ The Duchess, ” by The Duchess.20 

1073 Scheherazade, by F. Warden 20 

1074 Roughing it in the Bush, by Su- 

sanna Moodie 20 

1075 The Insurgent Chief, by Aimard. JO 

1076 Life in the Backwoods, byMoodie.20 

1077 Jim the Parson, by E. B.Benjamin.20 

1078 Tax the Area, by Kemper Bocock. 20 

1079 The Flying Horseman, by Aimard.10 

1080 The Blue Veil; or, The Clime of 

the Tower, by F. du Boisgobey. .20 

1081 Last of the Ancas, by A.imard 10 

1082 Strange Adventures of Lucy 

Smith, by F. C. Philips 20 

1083 As in a Looking Glass, by Philips.20 

1084 The Dean and his Daughter, by 

F. C. Philips 20 

1085 Life in the Clearings, by Moodie . . 20 

1086 Missouri Outlaws, by Aimard 10 

1087 The Frozen Pirate, by Russell.. 20 

1088 Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship, 

Pt. I, by Goethe, translated by 

Carlyle 20 

Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship, 
Pt. H, by Goethe, translated by 
Carlyle 20 

1089 Prairie Flower, by Aimard 10 

1090 Wilhelm Meister’s Travels, by 

Goethe, translated by Carlyle 20 

1091 Queen Hortense, by L. Muhlbach. 30 


Dealers can always obtain complete Catalogues with imprint, for free distribu- 
tion, on application to the Publishers, 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

14 & 16 Vesey Street, New York. 


JIM THE PARSON 


BY 

E. BEDELL BENJAMIN 

AUTHOR OF u OUR ROMAN PALACE,” ** BRJGHTSIDE,** “ BRIGHTSIDE 
CHILDREN,” ETC., BTC. 




NEW YORK 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 

14 and 16 Vesey Street 


Copyright, 1887, by 

JOHN W* LOVELL COMPANY 


TfiOW'S 

PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY, 
NEW YORK. 


A PART of this story was published in 1881, in Godey's 
•Magazine. It is now offered in its complete form under 
the same name — 


JIM THE PARSON. 



CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

The Boy Prophesies the Man, 9 

CHAPTER II. 

May Seeks Help, 19 

CHAPTER III. 

She Finds It, . ... 26 

CHAPTER IV. 

Hope, «. . . 34 

CHAPTER V. 

Fruition, . ... 39 

CHAPTER VI. 

May’s Discoveries, . . .... 46 

CHAPTER VII. 

May’s Sorrow, . . . 57 

CHAPTER VIII. 

The Darkness and the Light, . 66 


6 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER IX. 

PAGB 

Hard Times, » 69 

CHAPTER X. 

The Cottage, . . . , . 81 

CHAPTER XI. 

Sunday at Burnside, 88 

CHAPTER XII. 

The Good News, . . , 102 

CHAPTER XIII. 

The New Home, 109 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Sarah Duffy Just Missed It, . . . . . . .119 

CHAPTER XV. 

She Will and She Won’t, . . 128 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Mr. Hogeboom, 139 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Kate Gives Advice and Takes Other Things, . . .148 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

“ Till Death Us Do Part,” ....... i6t 


CONTENTS . 


7 


CHAPTER XIX. 

PAGE 

The First Quarter of the Honeymoon, 167 


The Old Tower, . 

CHAPTER XX. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


The Voice of the Psalm, 183 


Home, . . • 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Shadows, 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Phebe Jones, . 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

The Search, . 

CHAPTER XXV. 

(>«•••»%•• 220 

% 

May’s Trouble, 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Plow Frank Acted, 

CHAPTER XXVII. 


























KGK.H,G? GHT Ml* 

. 








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7 3S I? 




’ 
























. .. A* • 













. 






















JIM THE PARSON 


CHAPTER I. 

THE BOY PROPHESIES THE MAN. 

“ Where shall I get a fellow to go an errand ? ” asked a 
young man as he mounted one of the wooden thrones 
erected by bootblacks for the accommodation of their cus- 
tomers. 

“ There's Jim the Parsin a-leanin’ on that there post, 
he’ll go,” replied the owner of the establishment, prepar- 
ing his blacking. 

“Is that his name ?” asked the occupant of the chair, 
laughing. 

“ Jim’s his name and parsin’s his natur’,” replied the boy, 
brushing vigorously. 

“ Well, call the parson for me.” 

The boy looked up. “ Parsin’s what we call ’im ; don’t 
you go to be a-callin’ ’im that.” 

“ Why not ? ” returned the young man, amused by the 
boy’s manner. 

“’Cause, if you said it, it ’ud be a-callin’ names, but we 
call ’im ‘ parsin ’ ’cause we knows ’im.” This was enough 
for the speaker, who at once shouted, “ Jim ! ” even if his 
questioner was not satisfied. 

Jim started suddenly, then seeing he was wanted, came 
to the stand, and asked, in a singularly pleasant voice : 


10 


JIM THE PARS OH. 


“ Does anyone want me ?” 

“ I do, my boy ; take this note to the office clerk of the 
Fifth Avenue Hotel, and bring me an answer to the Clar- 
endon. Ask there for Mr. Raymond.” The young man 
handed the note. Jim touched his hat respectfully and 
went off. 

“Straight as an arrow, but very long and narrow,” 
laughed Mr. Raymond. “Now tell me why you call him 

* the parson/ ” 

“Guess an ‘arrer’ is what you want. Jim 'll hit the 
mark ; an' as to his bein' * narrer,’ ef he had more to eat 
he'd be wider " — this evidently to gain time, for the boy took 
a long breath and thought a moment before answering the 
question. “ Donnoas I can rightly tell why we all call 'im 

* parsin ; ' it’s 'cause he's allers a-doin' things as if something 
inside of 'im made 'im do ’em honest. I’d ruther be like 
Jim than — anything.” The subject was evidently too 
much for the orator. 

Mr. Raymond laughed again at the definition of “ par- 
son,” and handing money to the boy, went to his hotel to 
wait for the note. Presently Jim appeared. 

“You have given me more than the walk was worth, 
sir,” said Jim as he received his pay. 

“ Oh, no matter, keep it — you don’t look over strong,” 
was the hasty reply. 

“Pardon me,” said Jim, “ten cents is all that I can 
take.” 

Raymond hesitated ; he wanted to give something to the 
boy, whose grave face and earnest eyes, darker for having 
sunk in deep hollows, had an appealing, pathetic look that 
touched him ; but he was an honest fellow too, and so he 
wisely told the truth. “You look as if the world was hard 
on you — let me have the privilege of helping you a little.” 

Jim was a gentleman : he could do a kindness or accept 
a favor with equal courtesy. A sort of glint of sunshine 


JIM THE PARSON. 


n 


passed over his face, almost a smile. “ Certainly, if you 
put it that way, sir. Thank you sincerely.” 

“Curious boy that,” said Raymond to his sister, Mrs. 
Devereux, who drove to the door as Jim left. u See how he 
walks ; none of the uncertain steps of a street boy — he 
steps like a prince.” 

“ Nonsense ; you are always finding princes among street- 
waifs. He does walk well, though, I must confess ; where 
did you find him ? ” 

Her brother laughed. “ I am afraid to tell you, my fas- 
tidious sister, that I took a fancy to a bootblack and had 
my boots blacked for the sake of talking to him ” 

“ What ! in the street ? ” gasped the woman of fash- 
ion. 

“Yes ; don’t faint, for there I also made this distinguished 
acquaintance ; he is known as ‘Jim the Parson.’ ” 

Jim was out of sight then ; Mrs. Devereux vouchsafed 
no more interest, but after inviting her brother to dinner, 
to meet their old friend the Rev. Mr. Thornton, entered 
her carriage and drove off. Raymond wished he had 
asked Jim where he lived, reproached himself for the 
neglect, but was not too much troubled about it to lose his 
appetite for his luncheon, a refreshment utterly unknown 
to “ the parsin,” who went back to his little friend the 
bootblack. 

Jim — my hero — for he was a hero in his way, was a 
noble, straightforward fellow, uniting the self-abnegation 
of a missionary and the endurance of a martyr with the 
bravery of a soldier and the gentleness of a Christian. I 
mean of a true Christian, one who can unite bravery with 
the characteristics of a gentleman, for he was kind as 
well as brave. Like Tom Brown of Rugby, he never 
bullied a little boy nor feared a big one. He was faithful 
to his hours of work, and devoted all his earnings to the 
support of his mother and little sister, whom he proudly 


12 


JIM THE PARSON. 


called “ my family.” Two years before this, his mother 
died,, and now his “ family ” was only his sister, little May, 
who was his charge and his delight. To give her a safe 
home, to make her happy, to have her arms around him 
when the evening came, and to hear the music of the 
words “ dear old Jim ” was full satisfaction for the day’s 
weariness. And untold weariness is the fate of many a 
“street boy.” 

In the evening the day’s history was first told, with all 
that could make it amusing to the little girl ; then the 
money was counted and hidden behind a brick in the 
chimney, the health of Dulcibella, the doll, gravely con- 
sidered, the geranium examined, its leaves counted, till 
May was ready for their prayer, and for sleep. 

“Jim ” — he is a great favorite of mine, and my pen lingers 
as I tell how the boy prophesied the man — bore himself 
above his fellows, as together they struggled for their 
daily bread. No oath was ever heard upon his lips, no 
angry word disgraced them. If he saw dishonesty or 
meanness, his words were to the point, and his compan- 
ions would rather brave the policeman’s club than hear 
them. He was innately a gentleman : he shrank instinct- 
ively from what was low or vulgar, walking as if clad in 
armor amid the showers of vulgarity and the heavy rain 
of profanity and sin under which so many of our street 
boys fall. “A gentleman,” I use the word as descriptive, 
Jim was satisfied if he could reach his ideal of manliness 
but I have told before this of one gift of his that even 
noble men do not always possess. He could do a kind- 
ness or receive a favor with equal gracefulness. 

In thinking of what he was I have forgotten to tell how 
he looked. He was tall and pale and thin, and grew paler 
and thinner every day. It was well that the boys re- 
spected him now, for at the time of which I am telling, Jim 
had lost his strength and could hardly have come out con- 


JIM THE PARSON, 


*3 


queror in a fight for even the most persecuted of his little 
friends. He had dark eyes and dark hair, like other 
heroes, and his features, I believe, were all according to 
rule ; a certain gravity which seemed to cover a heart full 
of emotion, and a gleam of a smile, when he was pleased, 
have lingered in my memory more than any individual 
feature. 

That “ gleam ” was a ray of light when his eyes rested 
on his little sister. If you had told him of it, he would 
have looked up with the quaint wonder of a child, and 
gravely accounted for it by saying : 

“ May smiled, I think.” 

I said he was pale and thin ; his voice too had lost its 
power. He could still cry the names of the newspapers, 
still black boots or go on errands between the morning 
and evening delivery, but each day the effort was greater. 
At last there came a day when the houses seemed swim- 
ming past him ; it was the day on which he took Mr. 
Raymond’s note, and when he was nearly run over as he 
returned to his post. So ill was he that his friend the 
bootblack exclaimed : “ Hallo, parsin, you’re in for a job of 
doctor’s work. Go home, old boy, or we’ll have to carry 
you ; ’tain’t no use to keep a-holdin’ on.” 

He went home, and May saw that he was tired, too tired 
to tell her the usual story of his day’s adventures. So she 
made him go to bed, where he slept all the afternoon, 
all the long evening, all night, too, and then waked to 
the sad certainty that he was ill. His limbs ached, his 
head ached ; he could not lift himself from the straw bed 
on which he lay. 

“May! little May!” he called, “can you bring me 
some water*? It’s that I want, I think.” 

“What's up, Jim?” exclaimed the child, rubbing her 
eyes and scrambling from her bed, the other side of the 
room. 


14 


JIM THE PARS OH. 


“ You're up, Tot, and I’m not/' said her brother, with an 
effort to be cheerful. 

“Oh, Jim, dear, how you do look! You’re as red as 
fire. What is the matter ? What can I do for you ? Now, 
Jim, don’t go and be ill, you dear old boy,” exclaimed 
May, as she handed him the water. 

He drank eagerly, and then for a moment relieved by 
the “draught of cool refreshment,” tried to collect his 
thoughts, that he might face this new dilemma. 

“Listen to me, May,” he said. “ I’ve been trying to get 
up for some time, little sister, but something holds me 
down. I want to make out what is best to do about you.” 
And here Jim held his head tight with both hands. “I 
won’t want anything but water — sick people don’t eat — and 
there’s a little rent money behind the brick in the chim- 
ney ; you will have to take it to get things. Maybe it will 
do till I get well. Don’t go out unless you have to — Susy 
will buy you some bread. If you do go, walk fast, and 
don’t speak to anyone. Say our number over and over ; 
don’t forget it, Tot, dear. Oh, my head ! And, May, if you 
can’t get on, if I should — I mean if I shouldn’t — that is, if 
you need anyone besides me, go to some of the preachers 
and tell about us. I thought I could always take care of 
you, but ” and Jim stopped. 

“ But what, Jim ? ” asked little May, who had held her 
breath to hear every word. “ What , Jim ? ” But Jim’s eyes 
were closed, and he did not hear his little sister. 

“Oh, Jim, Jim, wake up, tell me more — oh, dear ! what 
shall I do ? ” 

Jim gave no answer ; the little sister for whom he had 
worked so faithfully was left to her own resources. 

The street boy’s work was done. 

May soon understood that Jim was too ill to speak. He 
was not dead, for she saw him breathe ; so, looking anx* 
iously at him for a moment, she took the little pillow 


JIM THE PARSON. 


*5 


which he had made for her, and lifting his burning head, 
placed it upon it, then bathed his face with water, trying 
to make him comfortable ; then she pinned his old coat 
before the window to keep the morning sun from his face 
— that sun which shines so brightly on the happy, so piti- 
lessly on the wretched. Then she went down-stairs for a 
pitcher of cool water, and labored up again with it, stop- 
ping to rest, and spilling it on the stairs as she struggled 
with the burden. 

“ How it must tire Jim every day,” she thought. At last 
she and the pitcher, and about half of the water, reached 
the room. After this effort, she straightened the two 
chairs, dusted them, and the old trunk, and the bureau, put 
her bed in order — it was only a straw bed, with one blanket 
and a quilt — then laid Dulcibella, her doll, upon the out- 
side, and whispered : “ Jim’s ill; you must not speak or 
cry ; lie still and be a good girl,” which Dulcibella did for 
several days. 

She could not spare any water for the flower-pot, but 
put a little more on Jim’s head, and then concluded to 
have breakfast. There was a quarter of a loaf, left from 
the day before ; she ate a little, and then tried to light 
some sticks with one of Jim’s unsold newspapers. 

“ It’s queer they won’t burn,” she said. “ I’ve put them 
right — one at the back, one on top, one in front ; now that’s 

two newspapers ” But they formed all the blaze, and 

soon died out. “ It’s better for Jim without fire, his poor 
head is so hot — and,” she added, reflectively, “as to that 
rent money behind the brick, it will never do to eat it up. 
I may have to get a doctor for Jim,” she thought, as she 
looked anxiously at her brother. “ It’s good I’ve got 
enough bread for supper — that’s something to be thankful 
for.” 

Jim and little May never had dinner except on Sundays. 
They were used to being hungry, and May thought that 


i6 


JIM THE PARSON. 


everyone had that same troublesome unsatisfied feeling. 
She envied Dulcibella for being able to do altogether 
without eating, and once tried to follow her example, but 
failing in this, said to Jim, “I guess we’re made different, 
somehow.” 

“ I guess we are,” replied her brother, with a sunbeam 
dancing over his face ; “ and I’d advise you to eat all you 
can get. Dulcibella’s mouth don’t open like yours. When 
she opens it, it is time enough to give her something.” 

Fortunately for the children, Dulcibella kept her lips 
firmly closed, and little May had every scrap that her 
brother did not actually need for simple existence. 

Jim was twelve years old at this time of which I am tell- 
ing, and May was seven. They were very lonely without 
their mother, who was gentle and loving. A year before 
her death, she came from England, and during that time 
managed to support them by making sailors’ shirts at ten 
cents apiece. She worked long after her children were 
asleep, but with her boy’s help paid regularly for the one 
room, procured food, and kept them tolerably clothed. 
Little May did her share of labor, too, for she stood beside 
her mother, and by threading the needles, prevented any 
cessation of the “ stitch, stitch, stitch.” There are many 
such stories. They loved one another, and were not un- 
happy. One care only the mother did not share with her 
children : it was the effort to fulfil her husband’s last 
wish. “Why tell them,” she thought, “ till there is some 
hope of accomplishing it ? ” and so the care was unrevealed. 
On Sundays work was laid aside, and the mother read the 
“ old, old story ” of Him who went about doing good, and 
who promised to care for His children, so they learned to 
thank Him for shelter, for food, for raiment, and for one 
another’s love. Jim only knew that his mother hoped 
some time to save a little money to go somewhere, but she 
bad not told him where. After she died he remembered 


JIM THE PARS OH. 


17 


he had never asked about it ; no money was saved, and 
he forgot it. There were papers in a chest, but the 
boy’s honor prevented his reading them, for they were 
sealed, and on the envelope were the words, “ To my 
father.” 

“ I will arise and go to my father, and will say, I have 
sinned.” 

Jim read and re-read these words. “ I have no right 
to know,” he said to himself, but he vainly tried to re- 
call anything his mother might have said. It was of 
no use ; there was no clue ; her death had been very 
sudden. Only this : “ I’m very tired, dear children, I 
will go to bed early.” She laid her weary head on her 
pillow, and in the morning her beautiful spirit was at 
rest. 

Jim gathered little May in his arms. “ We must not 
cry, dear May. Mother must have meant heaven, when 
she talked of going away. We will try to be good, so we 
can go there too.” Then it occurred to Jim that his 
mother must have meant some earthly home, as money 
was needed for the removal, but the mystery was not 
solved. 

Some kind people belonging to a neighboring church 
attended to the funeral, gave Jim lots of good advice and 
one dollar, then, considering him amply provided for, left 
him to his own resources. The landlord, who really felt 
sympathy for the children, told Jim he could keep the 
room for half-price, and, as to what was already due, if he 
didn’t mind parting with the bedstead they had brought 
with them (high posts, carved mahogany), it would cover 
the debt and pay a month in advance. Jim “didn’t 
mind,” and by these charities was able to start in life a 
rich man — that is, out of debt and something ahead. He was 
sure he could support May and himself on “ papers and 
shines,” and May said, “I’ll keep house, Jim dear, Dulci- 


i8 


JIM THE PARSON. 


bella and I. Mother will help me, 1 think — don’t you, Jim ? ” 
Jim thought so ; and if Dr. Burgon is right, she had more 
power to do so in her new home than in the tenement- 
house on Third Avenue, where night and day she made 
sailors’ shirts for ten cents apiece. 


CHAPTER II. 


MAY SE EKS HELP. 

I left little May sitting sadly by her brother, who soon 
began to be restless. “ I’m cold,” he moaned ; “ I’m so 
cold.” 

“Cold, Jim ! why, I was just getting used to your being 
hot. Whatever shall I do ? ” exclaimed the child, dragging 
over her bedclothes to her brother, and piling them on 
him ; then, as he still shivered, she opened a chest and 
took from it her little red cloak, and put that over him. 
It was of no avail ; Jim grew colder and colder. No fire 
— no food ! She looked around for help ; her eyes rested 
on the pile of unsold papers, on the floor by the blacking- 
box. “ I’ll go and sell them,” she thought. “ I can’t shine 
boots, but I can sell papers.” She seized the papers, and 
leaving the door partly open, stopped at the next room. 

“ Susy,” said she to a weary-looking child holding a baby, 
“ will you look to Jim while I’m out ? I’m going to sell 
his papers for him ; he’s real ill.” 

“Goodness gracious me ! ” exclaimed Susy. “ Don’t go, 
child — you’ll get lost ; you’re only a baby, and the boys is 
reg’lar wild Injuns.” 

“ I must,” said May, sadly. “ Will you see to Jim ?” 

“ Oh, I’ll see to Jim fast enough ; but, massy sakes alive ! 
I’m awful ’feared for you.” 

May was afraid too for herself, but more afraid for Jim, 
who she was sure needed a doctor ; so she bravely plunged 
into the cold outside world. 


20 


JIM THE PARSON, 


“ Times and Herald /” cried the little voice. 

“ Hallo, baby, where’d you steal them papers ? We don’t 
allow none but the regulars on this beat,” said a boy, run- 
ning across the street. 

“I didn’t steal them ; they’re Jim’s, and Jim’s ill,” she 
said, beginning to cry. 

“What ! the Parson ? I know’dhe wasgoin’ to be. I’m 
awful sorry! Let’s see your papers. Hi! that’s jolly; 
they’re yesterday’s ; you can’t sell them,” 

“ I’ve got to try,” said the trembling voice, once more 
calling, “ Tirnes and Herald ! ” 

“ Here, little girl,” said a kind-looking man, “ I’ll take 
a Times : I missed mine to-day. Hallo ! What d’ye want 
to lie like that for ? This is an old paper.” 

“ I didn’t know till that boy told me. I’m selling for Jim, 
and Jim’s ill,” sobbed May. 

“Poor child,” said the man, “here’s ten cents; don’t 
cry,” and he passed on, inwardly wishing that women and 
children wouldn’t cry — “ it upsets a fellow, so.” 

The boy too had gone, being in full tide of success with 
an “ Extry ’erral, got the loss of the shipunion.” May sat 
down on a door-step, cold and discouraged. 

“ Can’t sit there — private house — step lively ! ” said a 
policeman. 

She jumped up, and ran as fast as she could, feeling as 
if the whole world were against her. Soon tired, she vent- 
ured to lean against a lamp-post. She was opposite a 
large building with a black door. This opened so sud- 
denly that she nearly fell over with terror ; but soon so 
many happy-looking people went in, that she decided it 
was best to follow them, and see what was inside. It was a 
church. May had been there once before with her mother, 
“hundreds of years ago,” she thought; “but there’s a 
place to get warm, I remember that.” And the shiver- 
ing child soon found it — the hot black grating behind the 


JIM THE PARSON. 


21 


pews. She put her papers down and sat on them, forget- 
ting herself in the new-found comfort, and in watching 
the people who were crowding in. 

Presently a gentleman and elegantly dressed little girl 
stopped to warm their feet at the register. “ You dear lit- 
tle child,” whispered the new-comer ; “ how cold you must 
be.” 

“ Thank you,” said May, “ not very — now.” 

“ Come, Kate,” said the gentleman, moving off. But 
Kate stopped a moment, and hastily untying a little ermine 
collar, put it around May’s neck ; then, without waiting 
for thanks, followed her father. 

May was stunned with surprise ; and this addition to 
her old dress filled her with gratitude and wonder. Many 
a glance was turned on the bright-eyed child ; but no one 
spoke to her but Kate, and Kate never forgot her. 

She heard the solemn tones of the organ, and the voices 
of prayer and praise ; then a chapter from the Bible about 
the Saviour taking little children in his arms and blessing 
them. May had heard it before, but now she seemed to 
know better what it meant. “ Oh ! I wish he would take me 
and Jim,” she thought. Another burst of music, and then 
an old man with gray hair and feeble steps entered the 
pulpit. He was the Rev. Mr. Thornton, and all the peo- 
ple had come to hear him preach ; for he was what is 
called “a celebrated preacher,” and was to stop but one 
day in the city. And the crowd of people with little 
May waited to hear his words : “ Come unto me, all 
ye that labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you 
rest.” 

“ That’s for me,” thought the child. “ I wonder what 
he wants with me.” 

“Come unto me ! ” rang through the church. 

“ He’s in a dreadful hurry,” she thought, “ but I mustn’t 
go yet.” Fortunately this resolution was strengthened by 


22 


JIM THE PARSON. 


an admonition from the sexton. As she returned this by 
telling him she was “ very good indeed,” he led her to the 
vestibule. 

“ Do let me go to the man in the tub ; he called me,” 
entreated May. 

“ What ! the clergyman, do you mean ? ” 

“ Yes, sir ; he wants me.” 

“ You shall go, my child, when he has done preaching ; 
I did not know you were waiting for him ; you may go 
back and sit by the register.” 

“ Thank you, sir; it’s nice and warm there, and I was 
cold. Jim’s ill, you know ; that’s the reason I am out sell- 
ing his papers.” 

“ Who is Jim ? ” asked Mr. Donelson. 

“Jim is brother Jim, and oh! he wants me back so 
much : will the man be long ?” 

“No, dear, not very long;” and for some reason the 
sexton found occasion to wipe his eyes as he quietly took 
the child inside. 

“ Oh ! he’s blown himself up again,” she whispered, as 
the old man took a long breath preparatory to his 
“ lastly.” 

Mr. Donelson put his finger to his lips, and lost all the 
benefit from the “ lastly,” in his efforts to control his op- 
posing inclinations to laugh and cry. The child was 
“ wondrous pitiful,” and Donelson kept his heart in the 
right place ; but the idea of the meek inhabitant of the 
“ tub ” blowing himself up was too much for his sense of 
the ludicrous. At last the people who had crowded in all 
crowded out. Kate was so lost among the silks and furs 
that she could not obtain even a glimpse of the child, 
who shrank away from the cold touch of fashion, not old 
enough yet to know how kindly some hearts beat far down 
under gorgeous coverings. Presently all was quiet, and 
the little hand was slipped confidingly in that of the sex- 


JIM THE PARSON. 23 

ton, who led her to Mr. Thornton, who was in the vestry- 
room. 

“What is it, my little girl?” he said, bending his kindly 
eyes upon her. 

She looked surprised, but answered in her gentle voice : 
“ You told me to come to you, sir.” 

“ My dear, I do not remember. When did I tell you to 
come to me ? ” 

“Just a little while ago, sir. When you first went into 
the tub, you said, ‘ Come unto me, you that labor and are 
heavy-laden,' and I thought you meant me, for I was so 
tired, and, oh ! now I’ve stayed so long from Jim, and Jim’s 
ill — oh, didn't you want me after all ? ” 

The tears came into the eyes of both the clergyman and 
the sexton. They understood the matter at once, and as 
soon as Mr. Thornton could recover himself, he answered : 
“ Yes, my child, I called all the weary ones to come to the 
Saviour. He has sent you to me. Now tell me how I can 
help you, and who is ‘ Jim ? ’ ” 

“Jim is brother Jim, sir, and he is ill ; he was hot, and I 
put cold water on him, and now he is cold, and I have no 
fire. I had wood, but the newspaper didn’t make it burn, 
and I went out to sell his papers, and they were old ones, 

and ” But here the long-tried patience broke down, 

and Mr. Thornton took the sobbing child in his arms, re- 
peating, “ Come unto me, I will help you, my child, as my 
Master gives me strength.” 

The poor early learn self-control, and little May 
struggled to suppress her tears, while the gray head of the 
friend to whom the Master had sent her leaned lovingly 
over her sunny curls. She was soon quite still. 

“Now,” said he, “let us goto Jim — and, Mr. Donelson,” 
turning to the sexton, “ will you kindly follow us with 
some food and kindling wood ? ” 

“ Have you no cloak, my child ? ” 


24 


JIM THE PARSON, 


“No, sir, I put it over Jim. I’m not very cold,” May re- 
plied. 

“ I understand,” said Mr. Thornton. “ We will go now. 
What is the street and the number ? ” 

May gave the direction to the rather disgusted footman 
standing by the carriage, who banged the door in a way 
that would have cost him his place if Mrs. Devereux had 
heard it. 

They were soon there. As they went on May told of 
Jim and of his goodness, Mr. Thornton listening with deep 
interest, for the story was simple and touching. 

“ Here we are ! ” she exclaimed, as they stopped. “ Oh, 
it’s so long since I’ve seen him ! ” and her little feet ran up- 
stairs with but slight regard to the slow movements and 
panting breath of her friend. 

Susy stood at the head of the stairs. “ Oh, May, I’m so 
glad you’ve come. Jim is queer-like in his head. Is that 
a doctor ? He’s awful sick.” 

May rushed in, not stopping to answer, and Mr. Thorn- 
ton entered the desolate room. May had both arms 
around Jim’s neck. He was sitting up, his hands to his 
head, his eyes rolling, and was talking : “ Oh, mother, I 
did take care of her ; I gave her all I had, till I took fire ; 
I burned and burned.” 

“Oh, no, no, darling Jim ; I put water on your poor 
head, indeed I did,” cried May. 

“ I know, you turned the hose on me — it froze me — I 
know.” 

“Oh, no, no, dear, precious Jim ; don’t you know little 
May ? ” 

“ Yes, I know you well enough ; you belong to the hose 
company — little May ran away.” 

“Jim, dear Jim, I didn’t run away; I’ve got somebody 
to help us — oh, Jim ! ” 

But Jim heard no more ; he had fallen into a stupor, and 


JIM THE PARSON. 


25 


lay upon the red cloak. Mr. Thornton tenderly raised the 
little girl and drew her from her fever-stricken brother. 

“ Do you think,' ” she whispered, in solemn tones, “ he 
has gone to be an angel ? ” 

“No, my dear child — no ; he is very ill. We will make 
him more comfortable ; you smooth the bed, while I hold 
him up. There, that is better ; now put water on his head 
again, and be a brave little nurse. We will ask the Great 
Physician to make him well again ; He can, you know.” 

“Thank you,” she answered, not quite sure what was 
meant. 

Mr. Donelson came at that moment with kindling wood, 
and, better than that, with bread and hot soup. 

May’s eyes gladdened at the sight. 

“Are you hungry, my child ? ” asked Mr. Thornton. 

“ Not very, very ; I had a piece of bread this morning. 
Won’t you take some soup, sir ?” she asked. 

“ No, my dear, you must eat it all. I will attend to your 
brother while our good friend makes us some fire ; ” and 
Mr. Thornton was glad to turn away from the child, who 
with quaint politeness was trying to suppress her eager- 
ness. 

As soon as the fire was made, Mr. Donelson hastened 
for a physician. 

“ We must know what this fever is,” said Mr. Thornton ; 
“ and please as you go out dismiss the carriage ; and send 
word to Mrs. Devereux that I will not return to-night.” 


CHAPTER III. 


SHE FINDS IT. 

The physician soon came ; he knew Mr. Thornton, and 
was glad to assist him. After examining the boy, he said 
the fever was not contagious, being a very common form 
among the poor, and brought on by insufficient food, 
fatigue, and exposure. “ The boy is fearfully emaciated,” 
he said, “ and this might have run into typhus ; but taken 
at this stage, we can prevent it.” 

He gave the address of a nurse, wrote directions for 
medicine and for a warm bath, then turned to the little 
sister, who wore a startled expression, somewhat as if she 
were watching the progress of an earthquake which she 
had caused. 

“ Now, .my child, you look tired ; lie down and rest, so 
that you can be ready when your brother needs you.” 

“ Please, sir,” she answered, “ Pm not very tired — and 
Jim wouldn’t leave me /” 

“ My child,” said the physician, “ I see you are a little 
woman, and can be brave enough to do what is best. I 
am going to stay till the nurse comes ; after that she may 
need your help.” 

“ Yes, sir ; thank you, sir ; perhaps this is the best time. 
Might I kiss Jim, sir?” 

“ Wait till he can kiss back again,” he replied, trying to 
be very cheerful and jovial. 

May looked hesitatingly at Mr. Thornton, and putting 
out her hand, said : 


JIM THE PARSON \ 


27 


“Hadn’t I better thank God first? Jim says there is 
something to thank Him for every day.” 

“ Yes, my child,” was all the clergyman could say ; but 
he knelt down beside her. 

Reverently she clasped her little hands, closed her eyes, 
and told her story to Him who marks the sparrow’s fall : 

“Dear Father in heaven, thank you for helping me. I 
didn’t know how to take care of Jim ; thank you for send- 
ing a doctor so kind and good. Thank you for my dinner, 
and for my friend who called me, and for Mr. Donnyson 
and the fire, and for Kate who gave me the pussy-cat, and 
for making churches so nice and warm, and for the ten 
cents. I’m sorry you had to make Jim ill ; please send 
me money to pay the doctor, because I can’t take the 
rent-money, you know, and I haven’t sold any papers. 
Please forgive me if it was naughty to sell old papers ; 
please bless my friends— and— Jim* oh ! do please make 
Jim well. Please tell father and mother that he will soon 
be well. For Christ’s sake. Amen/’ 

For some minutes there was no sound in that bare room 
save the echo of the prayer, but the listeners looked upon 
lives rich with unnoticed blessings, and asked forgiveness. 

The little girl lay down on the bed from which she had 
taken everything for Jim. Mr. Thornton covered her with 
his overcoat, and looked anxiously at the flushed cheek 
and thin hands. “She is not ill, my dear sir,” said the 
physician ; “ food and rest is all she needs. I will ask Mr. 
Donelson to see about the nurse ; it is not possible to de- 
sert such children. Whom can they belong to ? That child 
is a lady.” 

The sexton was found in the hall, furtively giving money 
to Susy — in a wild desire to do something for somebody — 
and was thankful to go for the nurse. Mr. Thornton 
watched the sleeping child. He had been in many a 
scene of deeper suffering, heard many a heart cry out in 


28 


JIM THE PARS OH. 


its own hopelessness, had seen many a child prematurely 
old from want and care ; and he had given help and gone 
his way. Here he was chained ; memory took him back 
to the time when he and his young wife watched all night 
the fevered tossing of their only son — praying, “ Spare 
him, good Lord.” The prayer was granted, and the pallid 
face smiled upon them. Why did little May, as she smiled 
in her sleep, take him back to that “long ago.” 

A moan from the boy brought him to the present sor- 
row, and rousing from his reverie, he found occupation in 
supplying the immediate necessities of illness. At last all 
was done. The doctor had gone ; the nurse had come ; 
it was far into the night ; he was very weary. He took 
the Bible from the bureau and began to read. Little May 
woke unnoticed ; she looked around — all seemed strange 
and new. There certainly was a small bedstead, with mat- 
tress and sheets, and Jim’s dear head on a real pillow — a 
table with bottles, tumblers, and spoons, and in the air a 
delicious odor of lemons. A kind-faced woman was min- 
istering to the boy. On the bureau was a shaded lamp. 
“ It’s the same old bureau — that’s good,” she thought, with 
a memory of Dulcibella’s best frock in a drawer. Her old 
friend was gazing on something that was written on the 
first leaf of the Bible ; she knew what it was. “ To my 
dear boy, James Thornton. — When he was yet a great way 
off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran and 
fell on his neck and kissed him.” 

May went to the reader. “ Papa’s father wrote that, 
sir ; but when papa was coming here he died, so he didn’t 
ever get that kiss.” She was suddenly clasped in loving 
arms, and Mr. Thornton exclaimed : 

“ He was my own dear son, and you shall have the kiss 
I have kept so long for him.” 

Then the child knew their loneliness was over. 

“ Are you Jim’s father too ?” she asked. 


JIM THE PARSON, 


29 


“ I am Jim’s grandfather ; I am going to take you both 
to live with your grandmother and me.” 

“ Grand, father — grand, mother — that’s two grands. 
How pleased papa will be.” 

“ I hope he knows it, my child.” 

“ Of course he does. Dying is only going to a new 
home, where they keep the doors shut. If mamma hadn’t 
died when I was asleep I’d have asked her to leave one 
of them open. But she can see out of the windows. She 
will be ever so glad I found you. Now, please, may I look 
at Jim ? Who is taking care of him ? ” 

“ A kind lady — you may call her Sister Anne.” 

“ How clean he looks,” she whispered, as Sister Anne 
put her arm around her, having listened to the colloquy 
with deep interest. 

“ Little May,” was murmured from the bed. 

“Oh, Jim, dear ” 

But the nurse held her back. “ He is asleep, do not 
waken him. Lie down again till morning.” But the child 
was not sleepy ; she yielded, however, to her grandfather’s 
request, so that she might be ready to take breakfast with 
him in the morning. 

With her sweet voice ringing in his ears like long-for- 
gotten music, Mr. Thornton went out into the night. It 
was a new experience for him to be walking the city streets 
long after midnight. He had no trouble in finding a ho- 
tel. He wrote a note to Mrs. Devereux, and a telegram 
to his wife ; and then tired nature asserted her claims, and 
the sun found his way between the curtains before he woke. 

When he did, what was the sense of happiness that gave 
him new strength ? Had old age passed and youth come 
back to him ? Breakfast with his granddaughter was the 
first distinct form of new joy ; and the boy who answered 
the bell stopped to listen to the song of praise by which 
the toilet was being enlivened. 


30 


JIM THE PARSON, \ 


“ Ah ! yes ; come in— did I ring ? Yes, yes, I remember. 
Breakfast for two, in an hour ; private room ; everything 
good that you have, if you please.” “ Praise Him above, 
ye heavenly host,” was resumed as he brushed his coat. 

“ 4 1 please ! ’ ” laughed the boy — “ he can have a boiled 
monkey, for what I care. Little astray in the upper works,” 
he remarked to the scrub-woman ; “ ordered for two — ain’t 
but one of him.” 

“ ’Nuther in ’nuther room, maybe.” 

“No ; prowled in alone, about one o’clock.” 

Little did Mr. Thornton care for the watchful world of 
hotel servitors. Still singing, he went for the lost sheep 
over whom he rejoiced. 

Sister Anne had found a very short blue frock in the 
old trunk ; the scarlet cloak over it made a gayly plu- 
maged little bird. The face was bright, and the beautiful 
hair carefully brushed ; even the old hat could not spoil 
the picture. 

Jim was better — he had spoken to his sister ; so every- 
thing was joyful. The child skipped around the white- 
haired old man, as he tried to pilot her to the hotel, until 
their safe arrival there must have been through the care 
of some good angel. 

Breakfast was hardly over, and May’s wondering ques- 
tions answered, when Mrs. Devereux was announced. 
The marvellous story was told to her, and she being one 
of those treasures of creation, an executive woman, had 
May in the carriage, and on her way to a furnishing store, 
before the child at all understood the new phase of life. 
Her new benefactor wondered at the mixture of sharpness 
of intellect and childishness, produced by the little girl 
having been so often left to her own resources, and was 
fascinated by the quick acceptance of her new circum- 
stances, with a simplicity that never forgot gratitude. 
The child’s heap of happiness was made too high for her 


JIM THE PARSON. 


3 1 


to mount, when she was allowed to select an entire outfit 
for Jim, she was dumb with joy. 

That night Mrs. Devereux received a few lines from her 
brother, Frank Raymond, who heard the story, and with 
much delight identified his new friend, having gone alone, 
and overcome Sister Anne’s scruples about admitting him, 
so that he could be sure. He wrote : 

“ Dear Maud : — There’s nothing mean about me. I 
won’t say ‘ I told you so.* Frank.” 

“ What intolerable slang that boy talks ! ” she ex- 
claimed, throwing the note into the fire. “ It’s rather a 
wonderful story, though, and I am rejoiced for my old 
friends.” 

Two weeks passed before Jim was able to sit up and to 
have the events that had taken place during his illness 
revealed to him. At last little May was left one day in 
charge of her brother, and allowed to tell, in her own way, 
the story of the coming new life. 

“Then, Jim,” she said, in summing it up, “there’s the 
dearest old tower to the church ; it was made a thousand 
years ago, or years and years ; maybe it was left over 
from some other old church, and when grandfather’s was 
built they hooked it on somehow. You can go on top, 
and sit on a jiatporm , with a stone railing around it, and 
green vines grow on it.” 

“ I think the roots must be in the ground, and the vines 
climb up,” said Jim. 

“ Oh, Jim, how can they ? Why can’t they grow on the 
railing ? Anyway, it’s lovely. Then the house is on the 
side — a big room for you, and a little one for me, and 
a beautiful grandmother with white hair ! She is always 
making people happy. Then there is a Sarah who makes 


3 2 


JIM THE PARSON , . 


gingerbread, and a big black dog, and a cow that gives 
pitchers of milk, and a white horse, and a Richard who 
takes care of everybody, and sweeps and dusts the church. 
The church door opens right in the garden, and, oh ! 
there's chickens and flowers, and a tub in the church. 
Did you ever hear such lovely things. Me and Dulcibella 
is going to live on the tower.” 

“Dear little sister ! ” said Jim, with a prayer of thanks- 
giving. “ Our troubles are all over. Now say something 
for brother Jim ; say, Dulcibella and / are going to live on 
the tower.” 

May obeyed, adding: “You are ’most well, Jim, I 
know by that ; you never would let me talk like 
Susy.” 

“ No, dear, never,” he said, with a kiss. “ Do you know 
we are going next week, and this is the place mother used 
to talk about ? ” 

“Yes, I know’, and when w r e start she will say, ‘There 
they go, the dear children ; ’ won’t she, Jim, dear ?” 

“ I am sure she will be glad ” 

“Do you quite understand, Jim, that the church hooks 
on one side of the tower and the house on the other ? ” 

“Not exactly,” answered Jim, laughing. 

“Now, Jim, see here, don’t we hang baskets on pegs ? 
That’s the way it is.” 

“ Oh, you funny little May ! If grandfather said they 
w r ere fastened on the tower, he meant built up against it; 
houses don’t hang around like baskets.” 

“ Perhaps,” she replied ; “but I thought maybe country 
houses were different from ours here. I believe you know 
everything,” looking at him with loving admiration. “ Any- 
way, we are to go up on the tower. You can see ’most all 
the world from there ; do hurry and get well, Jim. Oh, 
that reminds me — Mr. Raymond left some old port-wine 
for you ; he has been so kind all the time, I wonder he did 


JIM THE PARSON. 33 

not get you some new wine — I hate to give you any ‘ old ’ 
stuff.” 

“That is the best kind for me, little sister ; I think it 
makes me stronger ; it is my medicine now. Mr. Ray- 
mond’s kindness is another thing to thank our Father for. 
Everything has come around to us in a wonderful way, 
even father’s old home.” 

“ Why, Jim ! ” exclaimed his sister, much puzzled, “ do 
you think it would come around to us if we didn’t go ? ” 

“No, dear, not that way ; I mean things happen.” 

“ Then don’t say ‘ they come round ’ if you mean i hap- 
pen.’ You said your head went round — that must be the 
reason you thought things went round.” 

“ Oh, May, you are the funniest little talker. I suppose 
it is because you have stayed shut up in this room so much. 
I am tired, dear ; kiss brother Jim and say good-night, 
now.” 

Sister Anne claimecf her charge then, and made him 
comfortable for the night, after which May prayed her 
evening prayer beside him, adding an especial thanksgiv- 
ing about the tower. 

Then Sister Anne undressed her and laid her in her fresh 
bed, kissing her again and again, partly in memory of a lit- 
tle sister whom she once had on earth, and whom she had 
then in paradise. 

3 


CHAPTER IV. 


HOPE. 

Mr. Thornton did not neglect to send an account of the 
finding of the children to his wife, whose interest and hap- 
piness can well be imagined. She pondered over the tele- 
gram that only told her that her husband was detained by 
happiness. Sarah tried to help her mistress to a solution 
by suggesting, “ Maybe it's one of them city dinner-parties ; 
but he don’t care for ’em in Philadelphia. Anyway, we’ll 
know soon.” No, Mrs. Thornton was sure a dinner-party 
could not be what was meant by “ happiness.” Sarah, 
therefore, having nothing more to suggest, returned to her 
duties, devoutly thankful that sorrow had not come to the 
old clergyman. The next day Richard was the happy 
bearer of the letter of good news, and both he and Sarah 
were called to rejoice over the glad tidings of great joy. 
Mrs. Thornton stopped and wiped her glasses many times 
as she read aloud this letter : 

“New York. 

“My precious Wife : — The children of our boy are found. 
He and his wife have gone Home. They left two children, 
a boy — James — and a little girl — May. By a most wonder- 
fully providential circumstance the little girl wandered into 
a church where I was preaching. She came to me after 
the sermon — I will give you more of the particulars 
when I see you. She was endeavoring to sell newspa- 
pers to aid her brother, who had suddenly been taken ill. 
I went with her to see him, and after doing all I could for 


JIM THE TAT SOH. 


35 


the comfort of the two waifs, procuring a physician and a 
nurse, and making the little girl go to bed, I sat down to 
watch them. A Bible lay on the bureau, which when I 
opened — I have no words to tell you my wondering grati- 
tude — it was the very Bible that I had given to our boy 
when he insisted on leaving us. Do you remember the 
verse we wrote in it, and how we committed the words to 
Him who overrules all for good ? 

“ While I was dumb with amazement, the nurse, who was 
looking in the trunk to find something that was needed, 
brought a package of papers. The outside envelope was 
addressed, “To my Father.” They were from our boy— a 
history of his prodigal life, and of his return “to himself,” 
written in England, apparently shortly before his death, 
and with the expectation that his wife and children would 
come to us. I have not yet learned the reason of the delay ; 
probably it was poverty. When the boy recovers he will 
be able to tell the rest of the story. Now, my love, I long 
to rejoice with you, but I cannot leave the children. James, 
the boy, is ill, but I trust will be well enough to move in 
about a week. Little May is with me to-day at Mrs. 
Devereux’s — she cannot be separated from her brother, 
and will return to her old home at night. There is nothing 
contagious in the fever, so that your dear heart need not 
be anxious on that score. I do not propose to you to come 
to us because I hope to be with you very soon, and want 
you to make such changes in our little home as will give 
our two children each a room. The boy knows nothing 
yet, but May — our child — is full of happy anticipations. 
She is seven years of age, very lovely and very bright. 
The boy, James, is twelve years old ; of him I know only 
that he fell at his post, worn out with life’s battle in his 
struggle to support his sister. 

“ Wait patiently, dear Mary, a few days. I can hardly re- 
tain a proper dignity in my joy, and find relief only in sing- 


3 6 


JIM THE PARSON. 


ing aloud my praises. Send to Brother Mills for his assist- 
ant for one more Sunday, after which I hope to be again 
with my dear people. 

“ Mrs. Devereux has kindly provided the children with 
proper clothing. 

“ Sarah and Richard will unite their thanksgivings with 
yours, I know, and help you to bear the joy. 

“Faithfully yours, 

“James Thornton.” 

“ Indeed we will ! ” exclaimed both faithful servants, as 
with a trembling voice the old lady began to sing, “ Praise 
God from whom all blessings flow.” 

It may be that a passer-by would not have thought the 
music of the three voices was worth stopping to hear. But 
there was a pause in an angel-choir, and then the “ heavenly 
host ” answered the summons, and bore the spirit-music to 
its home. On the children's part, the next great event 
was the journey to the new home. 

Before this was undertaken, Jim’s street friends came in 
vast numbers to say “Good-by.” He had a gift and a 
kind word for each one. Some were awed at his good 
fortune; the little bootblack “knowed it ’ud happen 
some time, ’cause the parsin ’ad it in ’im ; ” some were 
grave, and found their own lot darker in the contrast, but 
not one regretted Jim’s happy prospects. Frank Raymond 
presided over this ceremony, and added many of Jim’s 
friends to his own list, for although he was himself but 
little more than a boy, his life was already given to the 
work of helping the needy. By circumstances that some 
would have called “accidental,” he early became interested 
in Mr. Brace’s work among street boys, and even now his 
time and money were devoted to aiding those who were 
struggling to live and to live aright. His sister said, “ Only 
an eccentricity,” and much regretted the waste of his gifts ; 


JIM THE PARSON. 


37 


but Frank, in his light-hearted and open-handed way, never 
failed in the life he had undertaken — it was, to Rescue the 
Tempted. 

Susy was not forgotten amid all this happiness. She 
and her poor mother, who “ did, going out to day’s work,” 
as she expressed it, received such substantial help that it 
was long before the weary look clouded the child’s face 
again. 

At last all were ready — the trunks packed and 
strapped, and admired by the children in a way that 
trunks with the wildest imaginations had never thought 
possible. May and Dulcibelia had each a new frock for 
travelling, and May had a satchel, with her name on it in 
silver letters, a gift from Mr. Raymond, and there were 
shawls in straps, and many other things, all adding to the 
importance of the occasion. It was a wonderful time, and 
made a deep impression on the little girl, who really was 
entering a new country. 

Even Jim’s face was full of those gleams of which I have 
told you. “ He’s laughing in his heart,” May said ; and so 
he was, for his little sister’s business-like airs were irre- 
sistible. She wanted to carry everything, and superin- 
tended Jim’s removal, as he was carried down-stairs and 
placed in the carriage, with the anxiety of a young mother. 
One of his dear hands was in hers during the drive to the 
depot, and with her new experience of life in New York 
she gravely pointed out the churches and public build- 
ings. Jim bore the drive very well, improving as they 
went on, and was quite able to be interested. He went to 
sleep soon after they were in the cars, but woke up in 
time to enjoy with May the canal and canal-boats — 
“ water carriages,” May said. At Camden — for in Jim’s 
boyhood it was the correct thing to go to Philadelphia by 
the Camden route — he was lifted in a carriage and driven 
on the boat, and thus without change up Chestnut Street 


38 JIM THE PARSON, \ 

to the Girard House, where the tired party stopped for the 
night. 

The invalid slept soundly, and as to May, she was asleep 
before she was undressed, so that one of the women took 
off her clothes and put her to bed without waking her. 

The next morning was soft and beautiful ; winter was 
over, and the air so delicious that Jim said breathing 
seemed enough happiness for that day. 

They still had a short railway journey. Mrs. Devereux’s 
man, who came with them from New York, left them after 

lifting Jim into the cars, for at the station in D they 

were to meet Richard, Mr. Thornton's sexton, with a 
carriage. 

Mr. Thornton always spoke of meeting Richard as the 
event that would entirely relieve his mind of every bur- 
den. He depended utterly on this faithful friend and 
servant. Richard was his sexton, his gardener, and his 
secular assistant. 

They reached the station of the little town of D at 

six o’clock. A crowd had gathered, and were delighted 
to see them, for everyone knew some version of the story. 
They stood back kindly as they saw the pale face of the 
invalid. Then Richard, who was waiting, joyfully took 
possession of the party. He carried Jim to the carriage 
as if he were a baby, lifted May in before she could remon- 
strate, helped Mr. Thornton, and springing up beside the 
driver, seemed to take his first breath in a long “ Whew ! ” 


CHAPTER V. 


FRUITION. 

Meanwhile, at the parsonage, for the twentieth time, 
“ the beautiful grandmother with the white hair ” said : 
“ They must be coming soon, Sarah.” 

“ It’s just six o’clock ; we will hear the train in a 
minute ; Richard has gone to the station,” replied 
Sarah. 

The old lady shook the sofa-pillow again, rearranged 
the chairs, and finally took her stand at the door to watch. 
Soon the carriage drove up. Richard, without ceremony, 
carried May inside the gate, where, before she was fairly 
balanced, the old lady seized her, and kissing her as she 
went, carried her into the study. 

“ My ! my ! ” said the child ; “ who’ll take me next, I 
wonder? Are you the beautiful grandmother?” she 
asked, with her great eyes wide open. 

“ Yes, I suppose so, you darling precious child. Will 
you try to love me ? ” 

‘'Aren’t you sure ? I want the right one.” 

“ Oh, I’m the right one,” said the rather astonished old 
lady. 

“Then I’ve been loving you for two weeks.” 

“You precious dear ” — but here May was landed rather 
suddenly on her feet, for Richard came in carrying Jim, 
and the joyful grandmother hastened to greet him. Jim 
smiled his rare, beautiful smile, trying to return the loving 
words and deeds, while May was shaking herself in order 


40 


JIM THE PARSON. 


again, exclaiming, “ I never was so shooken up before — » 
never in all my life. ’’ 

“ Our boy is like cracked china, dear wifey,” said Mr. 
Thornton ; “ treat him gently.” 

May laughed, and putting both arms around his neck — • 
“We will put you on a shelf, you dear old teapot.” At 
this, and the look of love that passed between the two, 
Mrs. Thornton would have begun all over again, had not 
Sarah made her presence known. 

“ Shall I take Miss May up-stairs and get her ready for 
tea ? ” she asked. 

“Yes, please, Sarah, but bring her down again as Soon 
as you possibly can.” 

May went with Sarah, who, anxious to do something for 
the little girl, asked if she might carry her up. 

“ Oh, dear me ! No, indeed ; I can run like everything,” 
exclaimed May, who particularly liked to be on her feet ; 
and away she went, so fast that the good woman was left 
far behind. She waited at the top of the stairs to know 
where to go, but was in too great haste to return to Jim 
and her grandparents to notice much about her room, or 
to talk. She won Sarah’s heart by kissing her and telling 
her she was “lovely,” upon which Sarah furtively glanced 
at the glass, wondering if her plain face could be lovely 
even to a little child. May did not give her time to de- 
cide the matter, but taking her hand, said : 

“ Come Sarah, I can’t stay away another minute. Pm 
clean enough — I’ve ’most had my skin washed off lately;” 
and Sarah was whisked down again before she was quite 
sure that she had done anything but look at her. It was 
too late to rectify mistakes, for May was on her grand- 
mother’s lap before Sarah reached the door, chattering 
about everything she saw that was new to her, and having 
every word listened to as if it contained some wonderful 
revelation. Perhaps it did, for the untrammelled fancies 


JIM THE PARSON. 


4 * 

of a child are pictures of a bright, pure world on which 
many a weary heart would do well to look. 

The tea-table was soon spread, and May seated in the 
high chair that her father had used when he was a boy. 

“ What a little mite of a father I must have had,” said 
she ; “wouldn’t it have been nice to play with him ? ” 

“ But, my child, he grew up to be a man,” explained her 
grandmother. 

“ Oh, did he ?” said May, rather disappointed. “I sup- 
pose he did ; but I think a little father would have been 
nicer, though you know, grandmother,” she added, “ I 
can’t expect to have everything — I’ve got Jim and Dulci- 
bella to play with.” 

“ Who is Dulcibella, my child ? ” 

“Oh, my doll ; didn’t you see her? She’s lovely ; and 
she’s never hungry — isn’t that good ? It was very good for 
us, because, you know, we didn’t always have a great deal 
— did we, Jim, dear?” 

“No, dear, never any left over for Dulcibella.” 

“Oh, Jim, if she had wanted it, we could have had a 
fast day — don’t you remember, Jim, we did sometimes ?” 

“ Poor little May,” sighed Jim. 

But it was “poor little May” no longer; she was radi- 
ant, and unconsciously queening it over the whole family. 
Even Sarah, who was standing at the door, was equally de- 
lighted whether sense or nonsense came from the high 
chair. 

Jim had a strange feeling of content ; he had so long 
waked every morning with the burden of life heavy upon 
him, and every night gone to bed with it still unlifted, 
that to know now that his darling was safe and happy, 
where neither cold nor hunger could touch her again, was 
an indescribable peace and rest. Richard elected himself 
both nurse and valet, and carefully waited on “ Master 
Jeems,” as he called him, forestalling all his wants, ready 


42 


JIM THE PARSON, 


to be hands or feet, or to serve in any sort of needed ca- 
pacity. He and Sarah had been in the parsonage as long 
as Mr. and Mrs. Thornton, not only doing all the work, 
but superintending all the arrangements, their judgment 
and executive talents being generally yielded to with per- 
fect reliance. Jim was inspired with the same trust, and 
had an odd sort of comfortable feeling that Richard would 
give him strength, and when he was well would tell him, 
so meanwhile he need have no concern. He enjoyed the 
tea, and particularly the little figure in the high chair, and 
his eyes filled with tears of gratitude as he looked, where- 
upon Richard whispered : 

“ Eat some more, Master Jeems ; ’tain’t good to have 
feelin’s ; don’t think none ; just let me attend to that ; you 
eat and sleep, that’s all you’ve got to do.” 

But Jim was destined to feel and to remember that first 
evening in his grandfather’s home ; its impression was 
never effaced. 

When tea was over, Sarah removed the table, replen- 
ished the fire, and gave May another chair, as low as the 
other was high. She dragged it over beside her brother, 
saying: “ See, Jim, I am your little May again now ; isn’t 
it funny to have chairs for all sizes of people.” 

Sarah looked at Mrs. Thornton as if such a wonderful 
speech had never been made before, and the grandmother 
raised her hands and eyes with a heart too full for words. 
Her arm-chair was placed on one side of the fire, Mr. 
Thornton’s on the other, where they could see the chil- 
dren without seeming to watch them. After a little more 
conversation, Jim, who was very tired, closed his eyes. His 
grandfather at once went to him. “ My boy,” he said, for 
he loved to call him “ my boy,” “are you too tired for us 
to have prayers before you go up-stairs ? ” 

“ No, grandfather,” he replied ; “ not if I may lie on the 
sofa.” 


JIM THE PARSON-. 


43 


“ Do not move, my dear boy ; ring, please, Mary, for 
Sarah and Richard, and May, darling, will you bring me 
that little table, and place that large Bible on it.” 

It delighted May to be of use, and she soon placed the 
table and Bible by her grandfather. He went first to his 
organ, which stood in the corner of the room, and taking 
his seat before it, played in soft and gentle tones the even- 
ing hymn. They needed no books, for the family at the 
parsonage had sung the same hymn together every even- 
ing for many years, and sweet was the music that was 
borne aloft that night. 

Then followed the reading of a psalm of praise, the 
natural utterance of a full heart. Jim and May were but 
children, and yet they recognized this communion of the 
white-haired old man with his Creator, and knew that 
these inspired words best relieved his heart of its load of 
joy. After this they kneeled in prayer and were carried 
by their grandfather into the presence of a loving Saviour. 
Mr. Thornton’s prayers were interviews with his Lord ; he 
did not plead for pardon, for he had accepted this long 
before. He talked as to a friend. After a true-hearted 
thanksgiving, he devoted his new-found treasures to the 
Lord, asking for them nothing but His love. He held 
nothing back, earnestly pleading that the consecration 
should be complete — “ All we have, and are, to Thy service, 
that we may never have a thought that will end lower 
than Thy Courts. To Thee and to Thy work we devote 
them, as we have devoted ourselves.” This was the bur- 
den of the prayer, and when he closed he said “ Amen.” 

“ Amen,” came fervently from the boy. 

“Amen,” whispered little May, half frightened by the 
solemnity, and pressing closer to the shelter of Jim’s love. 

c< My children,” exclaimed their grandfather, “you have 
sealed my vow. May the Lord make you His own.” 

Richard stood waiting. “ I had better carry Master 


44 


JIM THE P ARSON. 


Jeems up now,” he said ; and it was time, for the invalid 
was weak and weary. 

The kind-hearted man undressed him tenderly, wonder- 
ing how any “ livin' mortal could be so thin.” A few 
spoonfuls of beef-tea were given, and many nourishing 
kinds of food that he and Sarah considered specifics for 
all weaknesses were thought of. 

At last Jim was comfortably placed in bed, little May 
climbed up for her good-night kiss, whispering : 

“ I have a darling little room, close by you, dear ; call 
me if you want anything in the night.” 

“ Thank you, little sister ; Richard is to sleep on the sofa 
in this room. Oh, May, how wonderful it is — I feel as if 
I were dreaming.” 

“ You’d better dream really, Master Jeems. Now, don’t 
talk no more ; you’ve gone through a great deal to-day. 
Feelin’s is dreadful weakenin’. I don’t take much stock 
in ’em,” said Richard. 

May went to her little room, where Sarah was only too 
happy to wait on her. 

“ Oh,” said she, “ Sarah, did you see my trunk ? I’ve 
got the key. Wait, I’ll show you how to unlock it. There ! 
isn’t it lovely ? Have you got a trunk ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Sarah ; “ a little one.” 

u Isn’t it nice to have one ? And see the beautiful clothes 
I have in it. Everything is new. You see,” explained 
May, “ we were found, and hadn’t much of anything. I 
don’t mean we were lost, because, you know, there we 
were ; but we were found, anyway.” 

“ The Lord knows where everybody is,” devoutly said 
Sarah. 

“Yes, that was the way it was. He knew, and Jim and 
I knew, and papa and mamma knew ” 

“ But your papa and mamma are dead,” said Sarah, 
rather bewildered. 


JIM THE PARSON. 


45 


“ Yes, to be sure ; but that don't make any difference. 
They know about us just the same.” 

“Well, I must say,” said Sarah, “that’s news to me, and 
I’m not altogether sure it’s true.” 

“ Oh, yes, it is,” said May, confidently ; “and they were 
just as glad as they could be when I found grandfather. I 
think I did the finding, after all — don’t you ? But isn’t it 
lovely to have grandfathers and grandmothers ? Have you 
any, Sarah ? ” 

“ No,” said Sarah, “ I haven’t any. You’ve got the very 
best kind.” 

“Do they come different?” asked May ; “I never had 
any before. All my things seem to be good.” 

“ There’s one thing certain,” said Sarah. 

“ What’s that ?” asked May. 

“You’re the dearest little girl I ever saw.” 

“If that means you love me, I’m ever so glad; but I 
haven’t done anything for you yet. Jim says we must do 
something to make everybody happy, if we are only with 
them a few minutes.” 

“ That’s a first-rate rule,” said Sarah ; “ you’ve made me 
happy by coming here, and by making your grandparents 
happy.” 

“ I’m glad,” said May. “ I hope I’ll do something to 
make you happy every day. I like you, and your cap, 
and your smooth brown hair. I think you’re beautiful. 
I’m going to do lots of things for you. I can sweep and 
dust, and mend — a little — I don’t believe I mend very well, 
but I had to do Jim’s things, you know — and now, Sarah, 
it’s time to thank God.” 

And then little May knelt down and astonished Sarah, 
as she had before astonished her grandfather, by the num- 
ber of her thanksgivings. 

“ Now kiss me good-night. Oh, how good the bed does 
feel ! ” and May was asleep. 


CHAPTER VI. 


may’s discoveries. 

The next morning May opened her eyes on a glory of 
flickering sunlight. It shimmered through the leaves and 
branches of the ivy that wandered from the great vine on 
the tower and encircled her window. 

“ How it dances and prances ! ” said May ; “ and how it 
lights up the blue walls ! How funny it is to paste paper on 
walls. I think newspaper pictures would be nice,” and 
up she sprang to see what made the sunlight so “shaky.” 

The little latticed window was at the foot of the bed, and 
May stood delighted by it. The grass was just beginning 
to show a little green ; the church tower was close beside 
her window, its ivy covering alive with innumerable birds, 
in and out, up and down, twittering noisily as they ar- 
ranged their households for the day. She soon found out 
the mystery of the “ shaky ” sunlight, for the overhanging 
branches were full of life — “ And the darlings keep shak- 
ing them,” she exclaimed, “and the shadows dance about. 
Oh, the lovely birds, the precious little dears ! I wonder 
if I may save some of my breakfast for them,” and May 
dressed as quickly as possible, that she might ask Sarah 
about it. The toilet duties did not take long to accom- 
plish, but there was no haste when the child knelt down 
“to thank God.” 

She paused a moment at Jim’s door ; as it was closed, 
she did not disturb him, but found her way down to Sarah, 
who was preparing the breakfast in the kitchen. 


JIM THE PARSON. 


4 7 


“ Bless us and save us ! here’s the child up and dressed,” 
exclaimed that dignitary. “ Why, I was coming to help 
you.” 

“ Oh, I can dress myself, Sarah. Ain’t I nice ? Oh, I 
forgot — Good-morning. Can I help you any ?” 

“Yes, indeed you can ; you may feed the chickens ” 

“Oh, Sarah — the birds— may I feed the birds that live 
by my window. I’ll save some of my breakfast for them.” 

“ Oh, did I ever hear such a child ! There’s plenty for 
the birds, and for you too. Now, look here ; do you see this 
tin box on the dresser ? I throw all my scraps of bread 
that come from the plates and from the table-cloth in there ; 
they are for the birds and chickens. You can take as much 
as you like and sprinkle on your window-sill, only don’t 
crumb around the room, or spill on the stairs as you go 
up. But I think if you want to help me you had better feed 
the chickens now.” 

“Yes, indeed ; I’m so much thankful to you, Sarah ; and 
I’ll never spill any crumbs, and if I do, I’ll brush them up. 
Am I to give the chickens bread ? and where are they ?” 

“Take this kettle of meal and come here to this door. 
Do you see this board walk ? Keep on it, ’cause it’s awful 
damp ; go straight down till you come to the coop, then 
throw the meal between the bars.” 

“ Yes, yes, Sarah, I know ; only I don’t know what a 
‘ coop ’ is.” 

“ The chicken-house, I mean ; you can’t miss it — it’s 
made with slats in front, and it’s pretty full of creeturs. 
They’ll call you when they see the kettle.” 

The delighted child ran down the board walk, which 
she called “a bridge,” to the coop, and laughed so merrily 
with enjoyment at the undignified scramble of the feath- 
ered fowl that, between the fed and the feeder, there was 
such an extraordinary noise, that the grandparents, on 
their way down-stairs to breakfast, were irresistibly at- 


48 


JIM THE PATS ON. 


tracted to the kitchen door. There they stood, hand-in- 
hand, looking with a new joy at the little incarnation of 
sunshine and music sent by the good Lord to chase away 
the shadows of old age, which had seemed to be creep- 
ing so surely around them. “ Come, grandfather, come, 
grandmother — come see the chickens scramble. Oh, I 
forgot ; excuse me — Good-morning ; I hope you have 
had a good sleep/’ and May jumped up and down in her 
excitement. 

“Did I ever !” exclaimed Sarah. “I thought Mrs. 
Thornton couldn’t never do nothin’ till she’d had her 
breakfast. Them children are blessin’s, that’s sure. I 
never did see such a happy child as that May — a kind of 
light shines all around her. Now, just see ’em come in with 
her a-dancin’ round ’em. Breakfast is ready,” she called, 
feeling anxious on the health question. “ I’ll have ’em all 
down with colds, as sure as you live.” Sarah talked a 
great deal to herself unconsciously, and was surprised 
when Mr. Thornton answered, as he entered: “I think 
not, Sarah ; we are younger to-day by twenty years than 
we were a week ago. Young people don’t take cold so 
easily, you know, as old ones.” 

“ I don’t know,” said Sarah, laughing at her own joke ; 
“ maybe you’ll be in for croups and whooping-cough.” 

After breakfast May was sent up-stairs to see whether 
Jim was strong enough to have prayers in his room. 
“ We generally have prayers before breakfast, tell your 
brother, but to-day have delayed, hoping he could join 
us.” 

Jim was sitting up in a comfortable arm-chair by the 
window, his breakfast on a table beside him, and Richard 
cutting the tender beefsteak and persuading him to eat. 

“ Oh, Jim, dear, how lovely you do look. I never saw 
anything so beautiful as everything is — never, never” and 
at the second “ never ” May’s little foot came down em- 


JIM THE PARSON. 


49 


phatically. “ Are you better, you dear old Jim ? Oh, I 
forgot — Good-morning, Richard. I do so want you, Jim, 
to come down and see the chickens. They’re in a house 
called a < coop,' and I fed them, and how they did scram- 
ble ! Really, Jim, they’ve no more manners than the Third 
Avenue children. Now, I forgot my message. Grand- 
father says if you are able he will come up here and have 
prayers.” 

“Now, Miss May,” said Richard, “we can’t have no 
prayers till Master Jeems is done his breakfast, and I don’t 
much believe in his coming up anyway. I’m afraid Master 
Jeems will feel it.” 

“ I would like it very much, Richard,” said James, as he 
drew his little sister to him and kissed her. 

“Well, I don’t know,” said Richard. “ If you hadn’t no 
feelin’s — but they play the mischief with sick people.” For 
Richard well knew that the sick boy had no strength to 
endure emotion. He had been trying all the morning to 
keep him to the simple realities of life. The emaciated 
frame and the deep spiritual eyes alarmed this careful 
nurse; the casket seemed too frail to hold the soul. But 
when Jim raised those dark eyes with a look of entreaty, 
he could not say no. 

“Thank you, Richard, I am quite sure it will not hurt 
me. I will promise to be very quiet,” said James. 

“ Well,” said Richard, “ I hope Mr. Thornton will make 
a composin’ prayer, and not harrer up our feelin’s, like he 
does sometimes. I’m ’most afraid to trust him.” 

May waited patiently while Richard decided the ques- 
tion, and then returned with the answer that “ in ten min- 
utes Master Jeems would be ready, and please be compos- 
in’.” 

Mr. Thornton took the hint, and the morning prayers in 
Jim’s room did him no harm, but were a memory and an 
influence on the life of the boy. 

4 


5 ° 


JIM THE PARSON . 


After prayers Mrs. Thornton brought her work to the 
room in which centred their hopes and fears, and seated 
beside Jim, said she would take care of him while Mr. 
Thornton was occupied in his study and Richard in sweep- 
ing the church. 

“ Can I thread your needles for you, grandmother ? ” 
asked May. “ I always did for mamma, so that she could 
sew straight on without stopping.’* 

“Thank you, my darling child, I like to stop now and 
then ; and I want you to amuse yourself to-day by running 
all around the house and finding out everything about it. 
I will be here, and you can run in and out and tell me your 
discoveries.” 

Nothing could have delighted the child more than this, 
for she was very fond of investigation. It also amused 
James, who was only able to look on and listen. The 
years of work and of privation were revenging themselves 
now, and although all fever was gone, it was hard to re- 
store the wasted strength. He was very patient and un- 
complaining, but was too weak to care for much except 
rest and food — and yet, never too weak to turn his bright- 
est look on little May. There was something very touch- 
ing to the grandparents in this love of the children for 
each other — it was in each case so utterly self-forgetful. 
Jim’s thoughts were all for May, and May’s all for Jim. 

The little girl first examined the house, constantly 
running to her grandmother with questions, or with some 
article the use of which was quite unknown to her. She 
then interviewed Sarah, and was much interested in the 
pudding for dinner, and of course helped to beat the eggs, 
dancing witli delight when they rose to a white froth — 
“Just like a snow-bank, Sarah ; do you think the angels 
make the snow that way? ” 

“ I can’t say I do,” said Sarah ; “ my opinion is, the angels 
have something better to do than to beat up snow-banks.” 


JIM THE PARSON , . 


5 T 


“ But, Sarah, dear, child-angels like me. But what is 
that bark ? ” 

“ It’s Rover in the barn ; go see him, if you like — he 
won’t hurt you.’’ 

May ran to the barn, calling “ I’m coming, Rover ; I 
didn’t know you were there before.” 

She discovered a large Newfoundland dog, who was 
fastened in the barn lest he should frighten the children 
on their first arrival. He was good-natured enough, but an 
immense animal, and rather boisterous, particularly dis- 
posed to be so to-day, for he did not understand being 
chained, and much as he enjoyed running beside the old 
white horse, and jumping up at his nose, rather wearied 
of his society indoors. May soon made the dog’s acquaint- 
ance, and fearlessly patted and talked, sympathizing loudly 
about the chain. “ I can’t stand it another minute, Rover ; 
I’ll go for Richard.” Rover understood every word, and 
signifying that this was the proper thing for her to do, 
off she ran, and found Richard in the church, which he 
was diligently sweeping. A back entrance opened into 
the little garden of the parsonage, and as May opened the 
door she exclaimed : “ How lovely ! Is it our church ? 
Do you always sweep it ? May I help you dust ? And, oh, 
Richard, please come and unfasten Rover — he’s got a 
dreadful chain on his collar.” 

“ To be sure I will, if you are not afraid of him ; he 
won’t bite,” and taking her hand, the much-amused sexton 
went with her to the barn, where a tremendous barking 
and frantic rattling of a chain showed that Rover’s espe- 
cial virtue was not patience. 

“ There, Rover, you dear ” But Rover, in the excess 

of his gratitude, immediately proceeded with small cere- 
mony to jump on May and knock her down, and then in 
utter dismay tried to pry her up again with his nose. 

“ Oh, Rover, look out,” exclaimed Richard, as he put her 


52 


JIM THE PARSON. 


on her feet. Whereupon Rover, rearing up to ask her 
forgiveness, to his great distress upset her the second 
time. 

“ Well, I never was so upset before — never ! never ! ” ex- 
claimed the child, scrambling up, and putting her arms 
around the dog, for fear she had hurt his feelings. “ You 
must remember, Rover, that I’m only a little girl — Jim’s 
little May. Pm not a big dog ; don’t run against me so, 
Rover, dear.” 

And Rover said he would be careful, by kissing her 
gently, for he could, if he chose, accommodate himself to 
people of all kinds, steady or tottleish. 

May left him a moment to run up-stairs and ask if she 
might show him to Jim. 

“ Oh, no, my child,” said her grandmother ; “ he would 
knock him over, chair and all. Wait till Richard can bring 
him up ; he has no idea how heavy he is.” 

So May ran down again, telling Rover : “ Another day, 
Rover, you shall see Jim ; now come into the church, I’m 
obliged to help Richard.” 

“Make Rover wipe his feet,” said the sexton; “he 
knows how, well enough.” 

And Rover, much to May’s delight, wiped his feet on 
the rough mat at the door and then bounded in. 

“ None of your antics,” said Richard ; “ lie down, sir.” 

Rover laid himself meekly down, and May began to 
dust. 

“Remember which pews you dust,” said Richard; 
“ dust the books carefully ; never be careless in God’s 
house.” 

“ No, indeed,” said May, as if she knew all about it, 
wiping every book on both sides with great care. “ There, 
I’ve done three pews, and now it’s time to kiss Rover.” 

Richard laughed, and said it was well he did not have to 
stop for kissing, or his work would never be done. 


JIM THE PARSON. 


53 


Rover was delighted with this turn of affairs, and kissed 
back again most vigorously. 

“ Rover ! ” expostulated May, “ I didn’t mean you to kiss 
me — I’d rather save my face for Jim.” 

But Rover was not to be suppressed by any such con- 
siderations, so May left him, and recommenced her re- 
searches. 

“ Richard ! ” exclaimed she, “ there’s a tub again ; where 
was it when I came in ? ” 

“ I wheeled it off in a corner, so that I could sweep. 
It’s a pulpit.” 

“ Oh, yes, I remember — Mr. Donelson told me so — a full 
pit ; it’s just the shape of a tub on a post. Do you call it 
a full pit ’cause it’s so full of clergymen ? ” 

“ Pulpit, pulpit, Miss May ; what strange fancies you 
have, to be sure,” replied Richard, laughing again. 

“What’s this door, Richard ? It must go into a closet.” 

“ No, that is the tower ; do you want to go up ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, indeed. I know about the tower ; there’s a 
railing, and a vine, and aflatporm.” 

“ Come on, then ; I’ll show you a view at the top ; like 
enough you’ve never seen so fine a one before. Wait a 
minute till I get my keys.” 

“ Now, Rover, dear,” said May, sitting down beside 
him, “ you must stay here while I go with Richard to see 
a view. I don’t know what it is, Rover, but I’ll tell you 
and Jim when I come back. It’s kept up in the tower. 
Now, Rover, indeed you mustn't kiss so much.” 

Rover pounded his assent on the floor with his tail, but 
paid no heed to the remonstrance about kissing. The little 
caressing hand that was on his shaggy coat was too great 
a temptation. 

“ Come,” said Richard, taking a huge key from those in 
his hand, and opening the door, he and May began the 
ascent. 


54 


JIM THE PARSON, \ 


“ Up and up, round and round,’' sang May ; “ and 
what do you keep this great kettle hanging upside down 
for ? ” 

“ Why, that’s the bell ; I ring it on Sundays. It calls the 
people to come to church.” 

“ Oh, I know ; I’ve heard them in New York. Does it 
call out grandfather’s name ?” 

“ Ilis name ? Why, no, it just rings.” 

“There’s different kinds, then, in New York. There’s 
one near to where we lived ; it called out the name of the 
clergyman who preached. Jim and I used to listen every 
Sunday morning. It said, ‘ Ting, ting, tong, tong, come 
along, come along.’” 

“ What was his name — Ting or Tong ?” asked Richard, 
trying to receive this information with the seriousness be- 
coming so grave a subject. 

“ Tyng, to be sure. Is the bell the view you meant ?” 

“ No, that’s at the top ; I just wonder what you will think 
of next. Come on.” 

The little trap door was reached, and they went out 
on the square platform, on the top of the tower. May 
found the railing and the masses of ivy clinging to it, 
but changed her mind about living there with Dulci- 
bella. 

“ Now look all around at the country ; see them hills, the 
woods, the winding river, the houses — that’s what I call a 
view. It’s something you see * 9 

“ Oh !” exclaimed the child, “I think it must be the 
whole world. Did God make all those things? Will it 
really all be green in summer ? Grandfather said it would. 
Did he mean the houses, and the brown streets ? — will they 
all be green ? ” 

“No, indeed, only the grass and trees; and the brown 
streets we call roads ; you will know all about it soon.” 

“May — little May!” sounded from below. 


JIM I HR PARSON. 


55 


“Oh, there’s grandfather’s voice.” 

' s Come down, little girl ; I want you to take a walk with 
me.” 

So May corkscrewed down again, to be warmly greeted 
by her grandfather and Rover, who were both watching 
for her at the church door. 

She ran up first “to tell Jim, because he might think I 
was lost, you know.” 

Jim was asleep on the bed, his grandmother watching 
him, and May went off contented on her walk. She had 
so much to tell, so much to ask, and such races to run 
with Rover, that her grandfather found the walk with May 
in the country even more active exercise for mind and 
body than that in the city. 

There were visits to be made ; sometimes Rover and the 
little girl waited outside, sometimes went in, and were 
welcomed and caressed, for Rover insisted on sharing all 
May’s honors. 

It was great enjoyment for them all, and when they re- 
turned they had such appetites for dinner that the grand- 
mother said it did her good to see them eat. 

Jim was much interested in May’s account of her day’s 
adventures. She climbed on the bed after dinner to tell 
him, and in the midst of her recital curled herself up like 
a little kitten and went to sleep. 

Mrs. Thornton soon followed her up-stairs, and stood 
gazing upon the picture : the pale boy, with his spiritual 
face and dark eyes, watching the sleep of the rosy-faced 
little girl. Her head was on his arm, and one arm was over 
him. 

“Dear sister,” he whispered; “I have tried hard to 
take care of her ; don’t you think she looks pretty 
well ? ” 

“ She does you credit, my boy,” said Mr. Thornton, com- 
ing in. “ Air and exercise are doing all that was needed, 


5 ^ 


JIM THE PARSON. 


with a little more to eat. When she wakes, if you are able, 
let Richard bring you down-stairs to my study, where we 
have tea.” 

And the evening in the study finished the first day in the 
parsonage home. 


CHAPTER VII. 


may’s sorrow. 

Many days passed like this one. May made friends 
with the chickens, and the birds, and the old white 
horse, as she did with Rover, and was adored by Sarah 
and Richard, who tried their utmost to spoil her ; but 
little May retained her simple, loving nature, trying to 
help everyone, and to make all happier for her pres- 
ence than they could be without her. She followed her 
grandfather around on his parish duties, and many a 
hard-lined face relaxed into brightness as her sweet 
voice said: “ Good-morning ; I hope you are quite well 
to-day.” 

James improved slowly. When the soft spring days 
came he was able to walk a little among the pleasant 
surroundings of his new home, and to be introduced 
to all of May’s pets and favorites. The grandparents 
wisely let the first summer pass in simple pleasures, 
trying to strengthen them both by out-of-door life and 
garden work. The turning over of the fresh earth, the 
light summer work with Richard, was very helpful in 
restoring the boy’s wasted strength, for it was before 
these degenerate days in which malaria has been sup- 
posed to be a product of the soil. They gained some 
experience of life, their many questions were carefully 
answered, and their religious feelings were guarded and 
fostered without their consciousness ; for in the little 
parsonage home, under the shadow of the old tower, 


JIM THE PARSON. 


58 

there was — if I may so term it —an atmospheric religion . 
What was good and true and pleasing to the Master, 
was always done, as if any other course were impos- 
sible. 

In that Christian home the promise was fulfilled, and 
“ Lo, I am with you alway,” was a reality. The Saviour 
was an actual presence — a sympathizing friend in joy or 
sorrow, a reference in time of doubt, a loving and abiding 
Saviour. Faith was there “ the substance of things hoped 
for.” 

As the cold weather set in, and they gathered around 
the autumn fire, Mr. Thornton began a regular plan of in- 
struction for both children. May attended the school in the 
village for a part of each day, while Jim, hardly yet fitted 
for school life, studied with his grandfather. He advanced 
rapidly under the careful superintendence of his loving 
teacher, and both were better for these happy hours of 
work. 

Four years passed, comparatively uneventful as we count 
events, but most important in the lives of the children. 
Physically, mentally, and spiritually they grew, Jim almost 
to manhood, and May, in her beautiful girlhood, still pre- 
serving her unselfish character, and still a part of Jim’s 
very life. 

She was nearly twelve years old when the sad time 
came for Jim to go to college. One more evening re- 
mained. They passed it with their grandparents, until 
the usual early hour of retiring, listening with more 
patience than young people now can command to the 
reiterated injunctions about health, physical and spirit- 
ual. 

After prayers, when they said “ Good-night,” Mr. Thorn- 
ton finished his advice in these Words : 

“Guard well, my boy, the avenues of evil. Fortify the 
city of Man-soul ; look carefully at what seeks for entrance 


JIM THE PARSON. 


59 


at the Eye-gate, and the Ear-gate. Fill the city with what 
is pure and holy. Finally — 

“ 4 Whatsoever things are true, 

“‘Whatsoever things are honest, 

44 4 Whatsoever things are just, 

44 4 Whatsoever things are pure, 

44 4 Whatsoever things are lovely, 

44 4 Whatsoever things are of good report — if there be any 
virtue, if there be any praise, think on these things.' " 

As their custom was, the brother and sister lingered in the 
old room ; they closed the organ, put up the music, closed 
the shutters, locked the front door, and then Jim said : 

44 Come with me, May, to the tower ; let us have our last 
words there.” 

Thev took the lantern, and going through the dark 
church, and up the winding stair, went out upon the plat- 
form. 

44 Do you remember when I called it flatporm, Jim ? ” 

44 Yes, May, I remember every incident in our lives. I 
feel as if I had lived a hundred years. I remember a com- 
mon inn in Liverpool where our father died. I think he 
had been robbed of some money, and the shock, coming 
just after his illness, killed him. I remember that mother 
sold everything to get money for our passage to America 
— I remember the dreadful voyage, and mother’s desola- 
tion in New York. We would have been spared much if we 
had come directly here ; but there was no money, I sup- 
pose, for I heard of nothing but probable starvation. Then 
my street-boy life — and then a period of darkness, from 
which I waked to know that you had found for us a home 
of love and peace. May, my precious sister, you have 
been my light and joy during my whole life ; do not fail 
me now. I cannot see your tears, but I hear them in your 
voice. The years of separation will soon pass, and then, 
May, we will be always together again.” 


6o 


JIM THE P ARSON. 


“ It seems to me like ten lives — I cannot, cannot live 
without you, Jim.” 

“ In ten months I expect to have a long vacation — per- 
haps at Christmas I will be home. Look forward to that, 
dear. Sister May, you have a lovely home ; we have been 
wonderfully cared for. Continue your life of making our 
grandparents happy — a full life will not be sad. Then, let- 
ters, you know. If we were never separated, how could 
we write to each other ? ” 

“Oh, as to that, if letters are needed to make you 
happy, I will write without your going away. Must it 
be ? ” 

“ Yes, May, it must be ; and I only ask of you to live 
your life just as it is, and to be to me each year the same 
blessing that you are now.” 

“ What I have been, brother, has been only another part 
of yourself ; acting without you, I shall act like a person in 
the dark.” 

“You need not, if you act for others ;and oh, May, I will 
want bright letters ; will you not write them ? ” 

“ I will, Jim, and, dear old boy, when I want to feel near 
to you I shall come up here ; cannot some kind meteor 
take my message to you ?” 

“ Try shooting — tie a letter to an arrow, and aim at one 
of the horns of Taurus.” 

“Nonsense, Jim ; I’m not Titus Andronicus. What an 
impression that always made upon you.” 

“ There is a wonder in the passage that you have not 
discovered, Sister May. There is a tradition of a prophecy 
in that “good boy in Virgo’s lap” — but no matter for it 
now. I will remember, when light and joy seem to come 
down upon me from the stars, that it is a message from 
little May.” 

And so they told each other the same old story again 
and again, until May remembered her brother’s need of 


JIM THE PARSON. 


61 


sleep, and promising to call him early, she lay down to 
watch for the morning. 

I will not tell you of their parting ; the grandparents 
were not up, and there was no witness to May’s grief. No 
witness that morning, but many and sad lookers-on for 
long after. The smile was gone from her life ; there was 
no failure in duty, no failure in loving services, but all 
joy vanished. Rover followed her wherever she went, 
and when she would seek her room and bury her face in 
her pillow to weep unheard, his shaggy head was beside 
her, and his tenderest caresses lavished on her listless 
hand. 

“ Dear Rover ! Thank you, good doggy, but how would 
you feel if you were cut in half ? ” 

Whereupon Rover assured her that he would be less 
able to bear such a catastrophe than she, and cried about 
it until she had to comfort him. 

The grandparents were very patient with her sorrow, 
and tried that she should not know how great to them 
was the double loss ; for May’s joyousness had seemed a 
part of May’s self, and now a quiet, sad-eyed child was in 
the place of the two who had lighted the parsonage with 
a new day. 

She accepted all that was said, and attempted no de- 
fence. 

“ I know I am wicked and ungrateful — I cannot help it.” 

Rover was the best comforter, and by degrees the hard 
lesson of endurance was learned ; or perhaps there was no 
time for self-indulgence, for her grandmother’s eyes were 
failing fast, and reading to her was added to May’s other 
duties. 

May’s daily duties were legion. She still fed the birds 
and chickens, was ever ready for the afternoon walk with 
her grandfather, watched every need of her grandmother, 
managed on Saturdays to help Richard to dust the pews, 


62 


JIM THE PARSON, \ 


and even lightened some of Sarah’s cares ; all this, added 
to the usual routine of daily study, and lessons on the or- 
gan from her grandfather, made the girl’s life a busy one. 

One evening, “when the work of the day was done,” 
and she had time “ to sit in the twilight and watch the 
sinking sun,” May was alone in the little parlor, seated on 
a low stool by the fire. Jim’s absence lay upon her heart 
like a pall. “It winds itself about me,” she thought ; “ I 
cannot shake it off. The other girls enjoy their lives so 
much ; why do I go about as if a dreary old curtain shut 
me out from everything bright? I will be cheerful — I will 
— I will,' she exclaimed, aloud. 

“ I am glad to hear it, little girl,” said her grandfather, 
coming in at that moment “ I have a letter from James — 
a very interesting and delightful letter. Come to the study, 
where there is a light, I will read it to you — and perhaps I 
can help you in your good resolutions.” 

May felt for an instant a little mortified that her kind 
and ever-patient grandfather should have heard a deter- 
mination to be cheerful expressed as if she were obliged 
to summon all her strength to accomplish it, but soon for- 
got this in her joy about the letter, her only idea of a de- 
lightful letter being one to announce Jim’s coming home, 
and so she ran with alacrity to hear the news. 

It was very different from her anticipations. 

“ My Dear Grandfather : — I will not to-day give you 
the usual account of my college life, for I feel that the 
time has come to speak to you on a subject that becomes 
each day of more importance to me. 

“ Do you remember the first evening when we were 
brought to your dear home — when I lay a weary invalid 
on the sofa in that restful room ? That evening, boy that 
I was, I made a resolution from which I have never fal- 
tered. Do you remember how you consecrated your new- 


JIM THE PARSON . 


63 


found treasures to the service of God ? How when we 
said ‘Amen ’ you exclaimed we had sealed your vow? 
My dear grandfather, I resolved that night, if my life were 
spared, if I became strong again, I would devote myself 
body and soul to my Master. As you know, I have be- 
come outwardly a member of the Church ; but that was 
simply an acknowledgment of the heart’s choice. It was 
a privilege to say under what banner I would fight. Now 
I wish in earnest to begin the life-battle, and desire, with 
your permission, to direct my studies toward the ministry. 
I have waited until, in a year of college life, I could com- 
pare my standing with others, and judge in some measure 
whether I had such qualifications as would encourage me 
to undertake the work. I think that I will be able to give 
the intrusted message — to ‘ preach the Gospel to every 
creature.’ 

“Will you please write to me your entire heart and 
wishes on this subject, for I am as willing now as in my 
early boyhood to be guided by the dear love and strong 
judgment of my father’s father. 

“ Gratefully and affectionately yours, 

“James Thornton.” 

“ This letter has given me great happiness, my child. 
Your brother is eminently fitted for the profession he has 
chosen, and I am sure you will join our thanksgiving to- 
night for his decision.” 

“Yes, dear grandfather, I am sure Jim will be the 
very best minister that ever preached — except you, you 
know. Don’t you remember, the boys always called 
him the ‘parson.’ He was always good, always went 
straight on, like a car on a track. I don’t suppose he 
could help preaching ; he seems as if he was made for 
it in the beginning.” This was May’s comment on the 
matter. 


64 


JIM THE PARSON , i 


“ Now, my little girl, I think you have reason to be very 
thankful for such a brother/* 

“ Oh, grandfather, I am — ever so thankful/* 

“Yes, my dear, in your heart I have no doubt you are ; 
but you must remember that this separation from him is 
a part of his necessary preparation for a life of usefulness. 
He cannot pursue the proper studies except under the 
care of certain professors who are fully competent to in- 
struct him. He needs also to have his mind as free from 
trouble and anxiety as possible, so that he can devote it 
entirely to his work. Are you willing to help him, my 
child ? ” 

“Yes, dear grandfather, I want to help him, but ” 

“ I know, my darling ; it is very hard to bear the sepa- 
ration. But what is our duty ? You acknowledge the 
wish to help him — now about the duty of it. What self- 
sacrifice will the performance of this duty require ?” 

“ I don’t know, any more than letting him stay away, 
and I have to do that/* 

“ May, when you go to read to your grandmother, do 
you say to yourself ‘ I have to do it,’ and then amid tears 
and regrets perform this duty ? ” 

“No, grandfather, I love to read to her. I love her so 
that I don’t mind giving up anything for her/* 

“ Little May, who asks you to give Jim up to Him ?” 

“ Oh, grandfather,” said she, bursting into tears, “ if He 
only wouldn’t take Jim away ! ” 

“ If He did not, my dear, you would not have this op- 
portunity of self-sacrifice. He has filled your life with 
good things ; He has asked no sacrifice before this, but has 
only loaded you with benefits, and now asks you to part 
with your brother for a little while, that He may bring 
him nearer to Him. Can you not love your Master, my 
little girl, so that you will love to sacrifice yourself, as you 
love to do for your grandmother ?” 


JIM THE PARSON. 65 

“ How can I make myself love Him more, grandfather ? 
Love comes of itself.” 

“Does it, my dear? Suppose you were to hear that I 
am only acting as an agent for someone else — as indeed I 
am — and that your home and all your joys were provided 
by my father, and given through me. Would you not soon 
learn to love him ?” 

“ Yes, grandfather, by degrees I would love him.” 

“ What would increase your love for him every day ? ” 

“ I think hearing about his kindness, reading his letters, 
and such things, if I could not see him.” 

“ Exactly ; now, I want you to think more of the source 
from whence all your blessings come. Read more of His 
words of love, think more of what He has done for you, 
not only in daily benefits, but in the great work of Re- 
demption, the great conquest of sin, in which struggle He 
gave his mortal life, and for which He still bears the bur- 
den of our sorrows, as He makes intercessions for their 
relief. Oh, my child, think of these things, until your 
heart lays down its rebellion at this temporary separation. 
My precious little girl, make your sacrifice cheerfully, and 
let the hope of the future be to you an ever-present joy.” 

May threw her arms about her grandfather’s neck and 
promised to “ try.” 

She did try. She sought help where help is to be found, 
never again writing pitiful letters to Jim, but faithfully 
striving to help him by cheerful words of encouragement. 
She gave up her tearful hours in her room with Rover, 
and was once more happy. 

It was not so hard to give Jim up for the Master’s ser- 
vice as it had been “just for college, when of course he 
knows quite as much as anybody there.” 

5 


CHAPTER VIII. 


THE DARKNESS AND THE LIGHT. 

The vacations were very delightful to them all. Mr. 
Thornton always took James and May on some excursion 
for one of the summer months, and together they visited 
the most celebrated scenes of natural beauty for which 
our country is famous. 

Mrs. Thornton usually preferred to remain quietly in the 
little parsonage. “ Who would welcome you when you 
return,” she asked, “if I were not here ? ” 

Her real reason for remaining was the failure in her 
sight. She took an opportunity in their absence to consult 
a prominent oculist, and learned that her case was hopeless. 

Then to keep the sad news as long as possible from 
those she loved was her effort. At home, the coming dark- 
ness was less noticed than if she were in strange places, 
where she would be dependent upon her sight. Bravely 
she bore it, bravely watched the night closing upon her, 
and not until her sight was almost gone did the family 
know that she was suffering from more than a natural fail- 
ure of distinct vision. 

It was a deep grief to them all ; but as she resolutely 
closed the lids on eyes that she knew had lost their bright- 
ness, she said : “ No one could be better situated than I 
am for this privation. Do not be distressed for me ; I can 
find my way everywhere about the house. May is hands 
and eyes for me, and when she is absent Sarah takes good 
care of me.” 


JIM THE PARSOX. 


67 


She never called this “an affliction ;” “my privation” 
was her expression, and no gloom was allowed to shadow 
the home for this cause. To every friend she would say, 
“ I am very glad to see you,” and talked so cheerfully that 
it was difficult to realize there could be no light for her 
until the day when darkness would be over forever, when 
the blind would see and the lame walk. 

May was fourteen years of age when this “ privation ” 
came upon her grandmother. She at once induced her 
grandfather to let her leave her school, and pass some 
hours each day in study under his supervision. These 
hours May made very happy ones for all, for she insisted 
on her grandmother’s chair being close by the table in the 
study, where she could hear all that interested those she 
loved, and with her knitting, was neither unoccupied nor 
lonely. 

Three more years passed. Old Rover died during this 
time. He came one day to May and kissed her hand with 
a pitiful cry. “ Rover, dear, what is it ? ” asked she. 

He gave her one more look, full of loving appeal, and lay 
down at her feet. He was dead. 

Dear, faithful Rover ! Who can write an epitaph for a 
dog? Who can find words to tell his love, his truth, his 
patience, his trustfulness, his watchfulness, his self-sacri- 
fice, his long-suffering ? 

They buried him under the evergreens, just below the 
garden, near the river-bank, and knew that in this world 
they had one friend less. 

“ Oh ! ” said May, one day, as she stood by her little win- 
dow, where- the birds were just as noisily twittering as on 
the first day of her coming — “oh, Jim, my brother, my 
darling, when will we be together again ! when may I hear 
your dear, loving words ! when may I see you, Jim !” 

Her grandfather — he was an old man now — was passing 
her door, and hearing her speak, went in. “ Little May,” 


68 


JIM THE PARSON. 


he said — for he still loved to call her “ little May” — “ it has 
been long — a hard separation for us all. I am beginning 
to need my boy. The shadows of old age are closing 
around me. My work is weary to me now. I believe I 
can still give my message faithfully, but ‘ the keepers of 
the house tremble/ ‘ the daughters of music are brought 
low.’ My boy must come before ‘the silver cord is 
loosed, and the golden bowl broken.’ I want to hear his 
voice in my pulpit before I go hence. Write to him, my 
child — tell him to see whether the time of his ordination 
can be hastened. I want my boy.” 

In a month from this time Mr. Thornton, with Richard 
to watch his feeble footsteps, and with May beside him, 
went to the city, where, in the old Church of St. Andrew’s, 
they saw their beloved boy take upon himself the ordina- 
tion vows. His last reply to the questions of the bishop 
rang with the solemnity of a soul’s consecration upon the 
listeners. 

“ I will endeavor so to do, the Lord being my helper.” 

And his eyes were raised in prayer to that Throne to 
which no faithful suppliant ever looks in vain. 

That evening Mr. Thornton and May were side by side 
among the congregation. Many knew the story of the 
children, and many eyes were turned upon the white- 
haired servant of God as he gave his fervent responses to 
the words pronounced by his “boy.” 

And when the service was over, when the hymn was 
sung, “Jim the newsboy” ascended the steps to the old 
pulpit, glad to preach his first sermon from where the 
truth had been proclaimed with the clearness of clarion 
tones, with neither compromise nor faltering, for all the 
years the church had stood. 

His text was — 

“ Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy-laden, 
and I will give you rest.” 


CHAPTER IX. 


HARD TIMES. 

In a room of one of the better class of tenement-houses, 
a widow with four children struggled with poverty — com- 
parative poverty, for the family in the back room thought 
her rich. She had three hundred dollars a year. On the 
last day of December she found herself fifty dollars in 
debt ; and the misery she endured can hardly be compre- 
hended by those who know no want ; but life and its de- 
mands did not stop. The evening came, as usual, to that 
cold day, and the two younger children, Ellie and baby 
Will, with Albert, who was nine years old, were eating a 
supper of browned crusts soaked in milk. The mother 
who set this repast before her children was very fair and 
very lovely, and would have been singularly beautiful but 
for a strange expression about her mouth. A constant ef- 
fort to be cheerful, a determination to smile at all hazards, 
had in a few years produced a rigidity of the muscles which, 
as she one day caught the expression in a mirror, she said 
to herself, “ is just a shade less dreadful than a ballet- 
dancer’s smile.” 

Like the poor ballet-girl’s, whose fixed smile is un- 
changed by her agony, Mrs. Ray’s once beautiful mouth 
had lost the power of relaxation. She had not joined the 
children at supper, but was bending over her accounts. 
Laura, her eldest child, although only ten years old, was 
her confidante and strong helper. She went over the fig- 
ures with her mother, who finally exclaimed : 


7 ° 


JIM THE PARSON, \ 


“ There ! I cannot make anything else out of it. I have 
added it upward and downward, over and over again. Our 
expenses last year were four hundred and ten dollars ; our 
receipts were three hundred and sixty — our sewing, you 
know, dear, brought in sixty. Fifty dollars to pay, and 
the bills all waiting.” 

“ Perhaps things will look better in the morning,” said 
Laura, quite unable to think of any other consolation. 

“ Come, mother,” said Albert, “ and try my brown 
crusts ; we may eat to-day if we fast to-morrow.” 

“ The brown taste is good,” added Ellie ; “ come, 
mother ! ” 

The mother left the cruel calculations, those unrelent- 
ing figures, and tried to make the children happy by tak- 
ing her portion of the evening meal. The little ones 
knew that their mother needed more to eat than she al- 
lowed herself, and there was often a loving strife to tempt 
her to greater indulgence. They saved what Will called 
“ a kisp piece ” for her, with a tumbler of milk. She pro- 
nounced it “ excellent,” and Albert’s suggestion of brown- 
ing the crusts “ worthy of the great man she was sure he 
would be.” 

“ I’m afraid I’ll only be a great cook,” he laughingly 
replied. “ All my inventions are in that line, and when I 
can make bread out of sawdust. we will be rich.” 

There were many merry proposals, for neither sorrow 
nor privation subdued the cheerful spirit that made the 
one room a home . The object of each one, even the 
youngest, was to make the other happy. Unselfishness 
was not taught — it was learned by the power of ex- 
ample. 

Nothing more was said of the bills till after supper, when 
the little ones were as tenderly laid side by side in the one 
bed, kissed, and prayed with as thankfully as if they were 
in the curtained cribs and warm and shaded nursery of 


JIM THE PARSON. 


71 


which the elder two had a dim memory. Albert crept 
early into his closet. 

“ To-morrow being a holiday, I will be very busy/’ he 
said ; “ those shelves are to be put up, and the stove 
blacked.” 

So Laura and her mother were soon again in anxious 
discussion. 

“ How we can eat less and live at all, I do not see,” said 
the widow. 

“Nor I,” said Laura, recalling how often she felt hungry. 

“ What am I to do as you all grow larger? How are you 
all to be made presentable at school ? If Albert were not 
so careful, I could not even clothe him.” 

“ Mother, dear, don’t you remember telling us that God 
only gives sunlight for one day at a time, and that we are 
to work on each day’s gifts and not look forward to 
trouble ? ” 

“ Thank you, my child, for reminding me. Those lines 
come back to me, that have so often brought the truth to 
my heart : 

‘ Foredate the day of woe, 

And alone. thou bear’st the blow.’ 

We are not promised help until we need it. I will not be 
anxious. We must, however, save something somewhere, 
and it will be best to save where only you and I will suffer, 
will it not, my daughter ? ” 

“ I am ready, dear mother, for anything.” 

“ Then I propose that instead of sitting up in the even- 
ings to read and sew, we put out the fire and lights and 
go to bed.” 

Laura laughed. 

“ What ! at dark, mother, like the children ? ” — Laura 
was “grown-up,” she thought— “ and give up our talks and 
lessons ? ” 


72 


JIM THE PARSON, \ 


“ Yes, dear ; you and I can talk in the dark, and I must 
tell you all I know instead of reading. You can fancy you 
are attending a lecture. Come, let us begin now ; do not 
put on any more coal ; put out the light, and we will un- 
dress by moonlight.” 

It was rather hard, for the evening hours were the rest 
and refreshment of their day. One room for the whole 
family became tiresome after two years’ experience, and 
the evening’s quiet seemed a necessity. But the mother 
had lost too much to allow this additional privation to 
disturb her. They drew out the sofa-bed, and prepared it 
for the night The proposed talking was a failure this 
time — thoughts of the past and of the future rushed pain- 
fully upon the widow’s mind, and Laura would not disturb 
her mother. 

She went to sleep ; but the mother, as she listened to the 
firing and the bells, went back in thought to the New 
Year’s Day after her marriage, with its throng of visitors. 
Then the first happy years of married life, so soon fol- 
lowed by her husband’s failure in business, his brave strug- 
gle to support his family, then his death, and — destitu- 
tion ! 

The story is short in the telling : but long and weary 
had the years been. Now she was for the first time in 
debt, and her heart was heavy. But morning came with 
the sunlight which is given day by day, and the cheery 
voices of the children ushered in the new year. After 
breakfast the postman’s ring. 

“ Something good is coming ! ” exclaimed Laura, running 
down-stairs. She brought a letter, which her mother 
eagerly opened, while the children gathered around to 
hear. “It is from your cousin Kate, and — oh! my poor 
brother is dead — your uncle, children. It is all bad news. 
I will read it to you, Laura — you little ones go and play.” 

Albert was accustomed to relieve his mother by amus- 


JIM THE PARSON. 


73 


ing the younger ones, and, manfully subduing his curios- 
ity, he went through his usual list of entertainments, never 
imagining that the way in which he accepted life’s duties 
was heroism . 

The letter was from a niece whom she had not seen for 
many years, and to tell of her father’s death, with the 
alarming intelligence that at his request she was coming 
that day to her aunt. She referred to a previous letter 
which Mrs. Ray had not received. Laura listened in 
amazement. 

“ Here, mamma — in this room ? ” 

“Yes, and to-day; she will explain when she comes. 
I must meet her at the depot ; there is no time to 
think.” 

“ But, mother, stop a moment ; we must think. She 
will not be here till the afternoon ; what can we do ? ” 
and Laura looked ruefully around. 

“ I hardly know, except that I cannot refuse to take my 
brother’s child. I do not understand how it is that neither 
she nor your uncle have understood how we live. I have 
written about our losses ; I never exactly explained, for I 
really did not think my brother could comprehend my life ; 
but I supposed he knew it was a daily struggle.” 

Mrs. Ray well remembered the life of selfishness that 
made her brother a home-tyrant, and well knew he would 
not take the trouble to consider her position ; therefore, 
she had never gone into its details ; but somehow it shocked 
her to know how truly she judged him, and how little he 
had cared to inquire. 

“ There is not another room in the house ; what can we 
do?” asked Laura. 

“ I could not pay for it if there were another. She must 
come here and see for herself. What we can do after that 
can be decided to-morrow.” 

“At least we can have a table-cloth,” said Laura, to 


74 JIM THE PARSON. 

whom the uncovered table on which they took their meals 
was a sore trial. 

“ Certainly, my child, while your cousin is here ; that 
is a small difficulty. We will use our nice tea-set also. 
This will cost nothing ; but we cannot make things better 
than they are — dry bread and milk, in this room, form too 
dreary a picture to frame with gilt.” 

“ Oh, mother, can’t we have anything else for tea to- 
night ? She will be tired and hungry, and she has always 
had everything nice, has she not ? ” 

Mrs. Ray rose and looked out of the window. She, 
too, had once “had everything nice.” Sunlight always 
helped her — the shadows were at least less dark. 

“ Yes, my dear, I doubt if Kate has ever known priva- 
tion. We will try to have something better than our usual 
fare, and when she has gone we must be content with 
bread without milk. We are in debt, you know.” 

“ Oh, that will all come right — we can have a fast-day 
once a week,” laughed Laura, to whom present trouble 
quite overshadowed future privation. 

No more was said ; the usual ventilation and cleaning 
was attended to, after which Mrs. Ray went to meet the 
young visitor. There was no mistaking the stately and 
alarmingly stylish young lady (considering her destina- 
tion), in deep mourning and heavy furs ; but her welcome 
was as warm as if her aunt had every appointment of 
luxury to offer her. 

“I have five trunks, aunt Alice,” she said; “for the 
house was broken up suddenly, and I packed up all my 
‘ belongings.’ Can I leave all here but one ? I do not 
went to burden your house with them all.” 

Her aunt made the arrangements, and then told her 
niece that she had but a room. 

“ How do you mean, dear aunt ? A room for wffiat ?” 

“ My child, we are poor people. We sleep and eat in 


JIM THE PARS OH 


75 


one room. Don’t look so shocked ; it is large, and you 
shall have a corner, behind a screen, until we can find one 
for you.” 

“Shocked” was a mild term for Miss Acton’s state of 
mind. Her father often said, “ My poor, dear sister, she 
has lost her property, you know ; ” but this had little mean- 
ing, for her father said the same of himself, and yet his 
daughter knew neither want nor care. Her utter dismay 
could find no adequate expression. She followed her aunt 
in a sort of submission, and when she entered the room 
and was greeted by the delighted children, she felt like a 
giantess, and her trunk looked like a small house. The 
room was scrupulously neat and clean ; there was a dark 
closet that served each one in turn for a dressing-room ; 
the food was kept in a box that hung out of the window. 
Everything possible was done to make the situation endur- 
able ; and yet Kate Acton’s brain seemed on fire with sur- 
prise and consternation. When her father’s debts were 
paid, she, too, would have only three hundred dollars a 
year ; he had comfortably planned for her to live with his 
sister, but forbade her to make any inquiries till after his 
death — “ I cannot bear worry, you know, my love ” — and 
this was the result. Kate found she must dwell determi- 
nately on her father’s love for herself, that she might for- 
get the cruel selfishness that had spent all in the luxuries 
of European cities, and had only come home to die, “and 
that you may be near your only relative, my daughter. 
Go to her as soon as you can, and tell her how I have suf- 
fered.” 

The night passed in these thoughts, and during its 
watches Kate made a plan of life. In the morning she was 
a different person ; she had gone through an experience. 
She ate her breakfast with apparent relish ; in fact, she 
really did not know what it was. She then found that two 
rooms on the upper floor would be vacated that day. She 


76 


JIM THE PARSON. 


added them to her aunt’s accommodations, and bought 
some plain furniture for them. Several days were thus 
occupied, during which “ Cousin Kate” was the light of 
the little family. Then she said : 

“ Now, dear aunt Alice, I am going to see Mrs. Mont- 
gomerie, of Burnside ; she is an old friend of papa’s, and 
I want to consult her about finding something to do. I 
cannot live in idleness. She always knows what is best.” 

Mrs. Ray, much pleased with the way in which her 
niece had accepted the situation, had no objection to offer. 
She saw her safely in the cars, saying, at the last : 

“ I think I used to know Mrs. Montgomerie’s son’s wife ; 
find out if her name is Louise.” 

In truth, her aunt had once known them all ; but only 
at the last moment could she force herself to speak of her 
old friends. 

The “ iron horse ” was not many hours in reaching 
Brighton. The sleigh was waiting, and the old coachman 
was so glad to see her that Kate wanted to shake hands 
with him. 

“Yes, miss, all are well, and me and missus druv all 
over to find you last week ; we heerd you had gone to the 
city ; ” then the jingling of the bells drowned his voice, 
and a short drive brought them to Burnside. 

A dear old lady, careless of the winter wind, stood wait- 
ing on the piazza for her young friend. The dog barked, 
the parrot screamed, and Kate was welcomed as all who 
needed its rest and love ever were at Burnside. 

“ Where did you hide, my child ? As soon as I heard 
the sad news, I went directly to you, but only to learn 
that you were with an aunt in New York. Is she Mrs. 
Ray, whom Louise never could trace ? ” 

All this time the kind hostess was taking care of her 
guest, and pretending not to see the emotions with which 
she was struggling. 


JIM THE PARSON, 


77 


“She is the Mrs. Ray, and has spoken of Mrs. Henry 
Montgomerie. I will tell you the story, dear friend, for nat- 
ural gravitation brings the unhappy to you,*’ replied Kate. 

Not till after dinner was she permitted to do so, and 
then all was told, excepting the terrible necessity to blame 
her self-indulgent father. 

“Now,” she said, “to live with my aunt, in her present 
home, is impossible ! Could I obtain a situation as day- 
governess in Brighton, and remove the family here ?” 

“ My dear child, Louise wants a governess at once — you 
shall try it ; and there is a small house to rent on Mill 
Creek, just back of the Herndons. Everything seems to 
be waiting for you.” 

“ I fully expected you would shine on my path,” re- 
turned Kate, smiling. “ Do you mean that house with the 
preposterous piazza ? ” 

“ Speak respectfully of it, my dear. The house is mine, 
and I had that institution put up for some children who 
were not on good terms with Mother Earth : she struck 
chills to their poor little bones/’ 

“The piazza is delightful — may I rent it ? ” 

“ Yes, my dear, you may have the piazza for fifty dollars 
a year, and I will throw the house in. Not another cent 
will I take.” 

Kate laughed, but persisted in agreeing to pay just what 
the last tenant did ; and her old friend consented, well 
knowing how to have her own way in spirit, if not in 
letter. 

“ To-morrow we will go to see it ; and now I want to 
tell you my news. We have a clergyman at last. A Mr. 
Thornton, somebody with an early history — some romantic 
affair, excessively unreal, about poor children being found 
by their grandfather. When I am sure about it I will tell 
you. He is a remarkable preacher ; has a way of taking 
you to the places he describes— a sort of dramatic power, 


I 

JIM THE PAKSO.Y. 


7 * 

of which he is so unconscious that it is not sensational. I 
think he will be one of my enthusiasms.” 

“ I am thankful you still have enthusiasms/’ returned 
Kate. “ Your life will never be tame and prosy.” 

“ Never, my dear ; I am sure of that. Between life as it 
is and life as it should be, I am sure of interest while I 
have my faculties, and when they fail I devoutly trust 
that I will fail, too.” 

At this point the Brightside carriage was heard at the 
door, and Kate found herself warmly welcomed by Mr. 
and Mrs. Henry Montgomerie, who remained for the even- 
ing. 

“ Mamma, we want some of your best company tea,” said 

her son. “ Lulu insisted on coming before we had our 
>> ' 

own. 

“ I have no company tea ; you must share the daily 
Burnside fare. John is bringing it now, and Kate will 
make it like nectar. Sugar — crystal sugar (fancy my 
English friend, Mrs. Dorris, thinking we used maple- 
sugar) — and cream — no Devonshire is better.” 

“ Before she returned home I think she found out how 
good your cream is ; but, mamma, don’t be proud ; I want 
Miss Acton to think you are a dear, humble-minded old 
lady. By the by, Miss Acton, mamma searched thoroughly 
for you ; where did you hide yourself ? ” 

“ We wanted you to come to us,” added his wife, “but 
mamma insists that her loneliness is a reason for all the 
nice people staying with her. Do you not, dear ?” 

“Yes, I am a grasping, avaricious old lady. I want all 
the love and ail the lovely people ” — taking Kate’s hand — 
“ but I don’t object to your coming to see them. I did not 
find our young friend, however ; she descended upon us 
suddenly to-day.” 

“ The reason was,” explained Kate, “ that after our home 
was broken up I wanted to escape for awhile, and went 


JIM THE PARSON, 


79 


at once to my aunt in New York. Although I expect to 
reside with her, I was not prepared to remain then, and cir- 
cumstances induced me to come here for a little advice 
and counsel.” 

“Mamma has lots that she gives away for the asking,” 
said Mr. Montgomerie. 

“ I knew I would receive just what I needed,” said Kate, 
for she already felt the delicious sensation of home love, 
and of being under its sheltering care. The tears came 
into her eyes, and Mrs. Montgomerie turned the conver- 
sation to the new pastor, who had preached his first ser- 
mon the previous Sunday. 

“ Are you quite satisfied ? ” she asked her son. 

“ Quite. He has a gift that will recommend him to you, 
mamma — I never saw a more earnest man.” 

“ That is good. An earnest man is always a victor. Do 
you remember, in one of Mr. Bedell’s sermons, he said the 
way to conquer a difficulty is to plunge through it, not to 
walk around it.” 

“ My dear mamma, we must someti?nes build bridges in- 
stead of wading through streams.” 

“True enough, my son ; and you know that when a 
bridge must be built I can wait for it — but by no means 
until some particular tree grows for its material.” 

“ How about a hedge of thorns, mamma ? ” 

“I would call that an obstruction, and not a difficulty ; 
but even that could be surmounted if necessary.” 

“I have a ‘difficulty,’ mamma,” said Mrs. Henry Mont- 
gomerie. “The children’s governess, you know, leaves us 
soon. I can neither do without one nor wait for one to 
grow, to bridge over my dilemma. Do you know of one 
ready-built ? ” 

“ There is doubtless someone waiting for the situation ; 
I will find her for you. When does Miss Ellis go ?” 

“Not Until February. By the by, the children told me 


8o 


JIM THE PARSON, 


to tell you that Carlo had outgrown his first dog house, 
and that they want you to come and see his new one. It 
is a wonderful structure of black-walnut, with his name on 
both sides, besides a door-plate in front.” 

“ I will certainly come. It is so lovely in the children 
to want my sympathy.” 

“ Very,” replied Mr. Montgomerie. “ Though, until you 
mentioned it, I fancied it was loveiy in you to give it. I 
wanted Henry to put ail of Carlo’s names on his house.” 

“ I must tell you, Miss Acton,” said he, turning to her, 
“ Carlo is a very wonderful dog — pure Mongrelian breed, 
with very exaggerated ears, but a disposition which com- 
pensates us for what some carping critics might think are 
defects. We call him Carlo Dolce on account of his ex- 
treme amiability, Carlo Donkey on account of his ears, 
and Carlo for the exigences of every-day life, which re- 
quire speed as well as safety and comfort.” 

Kate laughed, and said she hoped to know the many- 
named Carlo, and wished her little cousins had such a 
playfellow. 

She then told of the cheerfulness and patience of the 
children under their privations, but did not define her 
aunt’s exact position ; only explained that she was living 
with strict economy, and that the children were deprived 
of the exercise that seemed needful for their daily good. 
Both listeners were much interested, and determined to do 
something about it. With either Mrs. Montgomerie, this 
determination boded good to its object. 

It was too late for further conversation when the guests 
had gone. “No more to-night, my dear ; a good sleep 
will make everything easier ; ” and kissing Kate, her old 
friend left her in a cheerful room, beside a bright wood- 
fire. Kate did not linger long to build castles of its coals, 
but thankfully accepted the rest and peace that surround- 
ed her, and was soon in a quiet and dreamless sleep. 


# 


CHAPTER X. 

THE COTTAGE. 

The next morning the cheery voice of the hostess talk- 
ing to her parrot and her dog was the first sound that 
wakened Kate. She looked on the clear blue sky and 
glistening snow till her experience with her aunt seemed 
a dream, and as she returned the morning greeting, of her 
friend she said : “ In the city one loses this clear blue can- 
opy ; even hope seems shut out.” 

“My dear, hope comes from within,” was the reply. 

“ But we need visible things to keep it strong.” 

“ There is hope for the blind and the deaf, my child ; 
it is not of the earth, it is the spirit' s acceptance of the promise 
of joy. When the light and love of the Lord is once in the 
heart, no walls of stone or suffering can sever its connec- 
tion with its source. The struggle to return is, to my mind, 
hope.” 

Kate was thoughtful a moment, then replied : “You are 
always right, but surely hope need struggle less where such 
a glorious canopy as we see here seems to be the only 
wall of separation.” 

“ I’ll yield to that, dear ; and this same blue sky hangs 
over the cottage, and, indeed, over all God’s creatures. 
Some are treasures hid in a field, you know ; but God sees 
all. The effort to find is good for us — but I will not keep 
you from breakfast to give a lecture on the strengthening 
power of struggle even for a mental state. Come, Polly 
6 


82 


JIM THE PARS OH. 


is calling, and Jip has waited for full five minutes for a 
look from you — four minutes and three-quarters longer 
than I usually allow him to wait for anything.” 

Your theories are not always put in practice,” replied 
Kate, laughing, as she returned Jip’s demonstrations ; “ how 
about strengthening Jip’s mental powers?” 

“Ah, Kate, animals are beyond my comprehension. I 
am always trying to make up to them their imperfect 
happiness. Jip’s hope and faith need no amendment ; he 
is a little deficient in patience, I must confess.” 

“ Just a little,” said Kate, who vainly tried to repress the 
dog’s wild expressions of delight as soon as he was quite 
sure of being the subject of conversation. “ Down, Jip, 
down ! you are nothing but a spoiled dog.” This failed 
to impress *the dog with a proper sense of guilt, but a piece 
of chicken, carefully cut up, reduced him to quiet. 

After breakfast, Mrs. Montgomerie said : “ Now, dear, tell 
me more of the particulars, then presently we will drive to 
the cottage and see what can be made of it.” 

Kate kept nothing from her friend, who listened quietly 
to all as the story was told again. 

“ I have gone on in a sort of dream,” she said ; “one shock 
followed another so fast that I could form no fixed plan 
for the future. The only shape that this future took was 
when I was in aunt Alice’s one room. I determined then 
in some way to get them all to the country — to find a small 
house and help support them. I can only do it by living 
with them and making them share the comforts I can in- 
sist upon. Aunt Alice has accepted her poverty as hope- 
less, and tries only to keep her children well and happy. 
Your heart would ache to see them sitting on the floor 
covered with blankets, while all the fresh air that can be 
obtained is rushing in at the open windows. She told me 
her neighbors thought she was very extravagant, as open- 
ing her windows in the winter required her to use twice 


JIM THE PARSON . 


83 


the amount of fuel that answered for sealed rooms. Fancy 
it, dear Mrs. Montgomerie — some of those people never 
have fresh air.” 

“The poor of New York, my child, are the most im- 
practicable of beings. I had many years of experience with 
them ; finally I gave all the money I could spare to Mr. 
Brace, of the Children’s Aid Society, so that the children 
could be sent to healthy country homes ; for every child 
saved is a criminal less for the city — and perhaps,” added 
she, raising her eyes earnestly, “one more inhabitant for 
the city of the sinless.” 

Kate paused a moment. Mrs. Montgomerie’s ever-pres- 
ent faith, her frequent reference to a certain future, had 
often impressed her, and though Kate was a Christian, she 
could hardly understand the certainty of one who never 
doubted her Saviour’s love. Few Christians attain to the 
peace of a certain hope, and yet it is the heritage of every 
believer. 

“ There is the carriage ! I long to show you my cot- 
tage. You will go wild over the roses that cover it in 
June. It looks then just like those English cottages of 
which one only sees a mass of vines and flowers, and won- 
ders at a chimney growing out of the heap. What lovely 
afternoon tea you will invite me to on that piazza ! I am 
enjoying it already.” 

“ I wish you were in reality,” replied Kate ; “ I can 
hardly wait for that coming June. How soon may we 
have the cottage ? ” 

“It has been so long unoccupied that I will need a few 
weeks for repairs, besides which, I want to add bath-room 
comforts. Can you wait three weeks?” 

“Certainly. I have something to do, also : some furni- 
ture will be needed, even though I have a little left and 
aunt Alice will bring hers.” 

“ Here we are ! ” for this talk had been going on in the 


84 


JIM THE PARSON. 


carriage, under the difficulties of Jip’s insisting on being 
attended to, for of course he went with them — the word 
“cottage” having enlightened him as to their destination, 
and equally suggested to him the delightful mill, where rats 
and mice abounded, so Jip was more exacting than ever. 
“He must have sympathy, dear,” said his mistress, apologeti- 
cally, as he scrambled over Kate for the twentieth time, 
never being satisfied with the view from either window’. 

“ Yes, I know,” replied Kate, rather glad when he sprang 
out of the carriage ; “ he exercised his faith from one win- 
dow and his hope from the other. I’m thankful I did not 
put on my best gown. Don’t apologize for Jip ; we all 
know him, dear, and accept him and his virtues, with no 
wish but that he may live as long as he gives you one mo- 
ment’s happiness.” 

“ Sometime you will love him for his own sake, and 
not make such long speeches about him,” returned Mrs. 
Montgomerie, laughing, and helping Kate to shake her 
gown into condition again. “ Now you can only see the 
possibilities of your home ; it will not look half its loveli- 
ness until the trees and vines shade it,” she said, as they 
stood on the little porch. “ The view of the stream is 
cheerful, even now ; you can see that the lawn, which at 
present is invisible green, slopes nicely to the water. This 
mound is intended for your flowers. Do you know the 
points of the compass? The porch faces north, giving a 
southern exposure for the garden in the rear. The tea-pa- 
vilion — it may as well have a grand name — faces east, so 
that it will be shaded in the afternoon. Evidently I planned 
it for you, though I supposed it was put on that side to 
give those delicate children the morning sun. We never 
know for whom we build — do we, dear ? Come inside — it 
may be warmer. But it is a mere baby house. The parlor 
looks on the water, and also on the mound of flowers that 
is to be.” 


JIM THE PARSON. 


35 


4< One window north, two windows west — six curtains,’' 
said Kate, reflectively. 

44 Oh, you prosy creature ! ” exclaimed her friend. 44 1 
wish you to see the aesthetics of the place ; we will come 
another day and have fires built, when we talk about fur- 
niture.” 

Kate laughed and said : 44 1 am in a very practical frame 
of mind, I fear, but I will try to forget that every addi- 
tional room represents so many yards of carpeting.” 

44 Forget it at once ; or if you do think of it, think of some 
roseate pattern, and not of yards. Now, this side — east — 
is the dining-room, one window north, and two east, the 
east ones opening to the floor on the piazza.” 

44 Oh, how lovely it will be ! ” exclaimed Kate ; 44 and we 
need not furnish the parlor until the summer.” 

44 Exactly,” said Mrs. Montgomerie; 44 and then India 
matting will do. Now, back of the dining-room is the 
waiter’s pantry, and in a small extension, a mite of a 
kitchen. Back of the parlor a staircase screws itself up 
so as to leave the hall unobstructed. You see, my dear, I 
wanted the house to face north ; that threw the kitchen on 
the south side, and I was much puzzled about getting our 
soft southern breezes into the house. See how nicely I 
contrived it : by putting the staircase here, I gave free 
draught through the hall, and by making a door in the 
southwest corner of the parlor, and a little window under 
the staircase where it rises, I gave the parlor a touch of 
summer air. Do you see my wonderful skill ? — all done for 
you, I know it now. House-building is an art, and I am 
very fond of contriving comforts. Come up-stairs. Here 
are two rooms on the east side, which I suppose your 
aunt and the little ones will occupy. I am going to put a 
railing around the roof of the piazza — it is nearly flat — and 
the children can play there.” 

44 Oh, how lovely it will be ! ” exclaimed Kate, mentally 


/ 


86 JIM THE PA A* SOA r . 

contrasting the present condition of those patient little 
prisoners. 

“Here/* continued Mrs. Montgomerie, “over the kitch- 
en* is the servants* room *’ 

“ My dear friend, we have not the slightest idea of keep- 
ing a servant/* said Kate. 

Mrs. Montgomerie looked blank, but quickly recovering 
herself, said : “ But, my dear, you may have one sometime 
— better have a room for her. You remember the old 
woman who helped herself to salt, in case anyone should 
ask her to take an egg.** 

Kate laughed, and Mrs. Montgomerie went on: “I 
mean, however, to make a small room in the attic for 
your cook, for I want to place a bath in this little room ; 
your room will be over the parlor ; and here is a scrap of 
a place, intended for a dressing-room, where the boy may 
be carefully inserted. I am not sure that it would be safe, 
unless he is very thin,” and the old lady laughed merrily. 
“ Can you really all be comfortable here ?** she asked. 

“It is simply perfect ; but I cannot stay long enough 
with you to come here again. Be patient a moment with 
my calculations; I must think about carpets or rugs.** 

“ So you shall ; and you shall have it all to yourself, 
without listening to me. I wish to speak to Mrs. Herndon, 
and to find Jip ; I know he is in the mill. Come there, 
Kate, when you have finished.** 

“ I have rented the cottage,** she said to Mrs. Herndon, 
who stood outside. “ Mrs. Ray and Miss Acton will come 
as soon as it is in order. Can they have milk from your 
famous cow, and Nora’s help for a few days? You will do 
the cleaning for me, I know.” 

“Yes, indeed. It will be a bright day for us when the 
cottage has folks in again. It’s ever so dreary bein’ shut 
up. You see, no one passes, and it’s wonderful quiet. I*m 
sorry Nora is out. She took the monkey for Master Henry 


JIM THE PATS OA\ 87 

and Miss Mary to see. Mrs. Montgomerie likes her to 
come on Saturdays. Shall I help you find Jip ? ” 

“ Yes, please ; he is after mice again.” 

Tradition never recorded his having any success — lux- 
ury may have destroyed his scent a little — but to-day he 
considered the summons particularly ill-judged, for he 
never remembered a time when he was more certain of 
catching that mouse with the twinkling eyes ; so Master 
Jip pretended not to hear. Mrs. Herndon was not his 
mistress — her “ Jip, Jip — Jippy, dear,” was no affair of his. 
Presently Mrs. Montgomerie and Kate appeared. Jip 
crept slowly toward them, at which Kate unceremoniously 
picked him up and put him in the carriage, an affront 
which he resented by not speaking to her the remainder 
of the drive, and, like other naughty children, was the 
only sufferer. 

That afternoon Kate showed Mrs. Montgomerie a care- 
ful estimate of the cost of moving and of living. 

“ Where did you learn all this ?” she asked. “You cer- 
tainly have never before known much of economies ?” 

“ Not practically ; but I discovered before papa died that 
we were spending more than w r e ought, and I passed many 
hours in planning retrenchments which he would not allow 
me to make.” 

Mrs. Montgomerie looked thoughtfully at the earnest 
face, fair, lovely, and queen-like — the simplicity of a child, 
and the bearing of a duchess. 

“She ought to be in a palace,” she said to herself, un- 
consciously clothing Kate in some superb drapery, and 
placing her in gorgeous surroundings. 

At this point the duchess remarked : 

“ With rigid economy and no servant, we can live de- 
lightfully. I am glad I am to teach instead of sewing.” 

“ Oh, dear !” exclaimed her friend. “ What a descent 
to my thoughts ! ” but she refused to explain. 


CHAPTER XI. 


SUNDAY AT BURNSIDE. 

It began that Saturday evening — Kate's new life dated 
from that time. To her “ the evening and the morning 
were the first day.” 

The two friends were seated beside the flickering light 
of the burning logs in the great fireplace of the library. 
Mrs. Montgomerie turned her bright face to her young 
friend. 

“ Kate, do you hear the music of the fire ? ” 

44 Yes,” said Kate, dreamily, “ the swan-song of the 
dying logs. We often hear of 4 the singing of the fire/ 
but to me there is something sad in the destruction of 
the wood.” 

44 Like everything else, it depends very much upon how 
you look at it,” replied her friend, in her cheerful voice. 
44 4 It is not quickened except it die/ and the music comes 
with the change into the great glory of the ever-rising 
light.” 

“ Hesitating sometimes,” answered Kate, as one spire of 
flame shivered and went down. 

“Faithless little flame, to teach you such a lesson. 
There ! it is up again — look ! rising, rising, a new body 
clothed in light as with a garment ;” and the ever bright 
face was illumined anew ; not less, thought Kate, by the 
light within than by that without. 

44 Are you ever lonely, dear ?” she asked. 


JIM THE P ARSON. 89 

“ No, my child, certainly not ; ” and her friend smiled at 
the idea. “ I am never alone, so how can I be lonely?’* 

“ He shall give His angels charge over thee, to keep 
thee in all thy ways,” repeated Kate, thoughtfully. 

“ Sometimes He gives me a little festival, like this visit 
of yours, dear. You always answer to my heart , to the 
source of my thoughts. My words sometimes hardly ex- 
press what I wish to say, but you — ‘ Kate of my consola- 
tion ’ — answer to my meaning, especially when you sing. 
What delightful people those dear old Israelites were. 
They sung and shouted whenever they were happy. Do 
you remember when David appointed certain of the 
Levites to ‘ thank and praise the Lord ? * Was not that an 
office worth seeking for ?” 

“It was indeed. What a good Methodist you would 
make.” 

“ No, not exactly ; I think the Methodists are striving 
to establish a condition of worship which belongs to the 
millennial days. But sing, Kate.” 

“Let me play something for you first — I rather pride 
myself on my music, you know,” said Kate, taking her 
seat at the piano, which was drawn out on one side of the 
fire, as if it wanted to be one of the family. 

“ If you play as you sing, you have cause for pride ; 
few are privileged as you with such a quality of tone and 
such an ability to use it.” 

“Thank you, dear friend.” 

“No need for thanks to me, I only appreciate. Thanks 
are due to the Giver of such a talent. I do not know 
what you can make of the piano — it takes a master-musi- 
cian to induce that earth-bound instrument to speak to the 
soul ” — here the piano gave a sad little wail as its owner 
snubbed it in this heartless way. 

“You have hurt its feelings,” said Kate. 

“ Don’t do such ghostly things,” laughed her friend ; “ I 


9 ° 


JIM THE PARSON. 


can’t help my fancies, even if I am old. Some instruments 
seem to me to have life — a sort of innate power ; others 
depend entirely upon what is made of them. Like people, 
some are suggestive, some responsive, and some sound 
like a drum with a hole in it and the old lady laughed 
again merrily at the idea. 

“True enough, particularly about people; I have had 
such fancies too. The piano certainly does consent to the 
lower style of musical expression, but its earthly proclivi- 
ties can be overcome. It is our failure if it quite refuses 
to speak soul-music. It is not like the organ, which seems 
like a human soul. Let me try my skill ; if you know 
what I will say to you, you must never be so cruel again 
to your piano.” Then Kate ran her fingers lightly over 
the instrument, as if she were calling it to life — not uncer- 
tainly nor tremblingly, but as if she believed in it. Pres- 
ently long, swaying sounds were heard — they seemed to tell 
of coming peace and rest ; then a melody gleamed among 
the chords like a revelation of a song of the universe. 
Deep harmonies of wind-music followed this, surging 
through the branches of trees which were alive with bird- 
carols. A bird-solo, and then an outburst of praise to Him 
who has made His world, to those who listen, a very joy 
of sound. 

For a moment the entranced listener did not speak, and 
then Longfellow’s rapturous words seemed the only fitting 
commentary to the music : 

“ O gift of God. O perfect day, 

Whereon shall no man work but play, 

Whereon it is enough for me, 

Not to be doing but to be. 

Through every fibre of my brain, 

Through every nerve, through every vein, 

I feel the electric thrill, the touch 
Of life that seems almost too much ; 


JIM THE PAT SOH 


9 1 


I hear the wind among the trees 
Playing celestial symphonies ; 

I see the branches downward bent, 

Like keys of some great instrument. 

O life and love, O happy throng 
Of thought, when only speech is song ; 

O heart of man, canst thou not be 
Blithe as the air is, and as free ? n 

Kate, my darling Kate, I thank you. Was not that what 
your music said ? ” 

“ Never was more perfect interpretation ; I played only 
from memory — I have never seen the notes— but that you 
have understood it, tells me that I have reproduced ‘ A 
summer day in Norway/ Once only I heard it, and feared 
to attempt on the piano what, with an orchestra, was both 
poetry and music. I cannot express to you my delight 
when you recognized the meaning/' 

“You made my piano speak as it has never spoken be- 
fore ; but, Kate,” and Mrs. Montgomerie smiled archly, 
“ after all, it was a song of the universe, not the song of a 
soul.” 

“ And yet one is but less than the other ; both are divine, 
both the expression of divine power. Let us have both 
to-night/* And to the quaint old monotonous tune of 
“ Allan Percy ” Kate breathed out the earnest pleading 
for the Master’s presence : 

“ Abide with me 1 fast falls the eventide, 

The darkness deepens : Lord, with me abide. 

When other helpers fail, and comforts flee, 

Plelp of the helpless, O abide with me. 

I need thy presence every passing hour ; 

What but thy grace can foil the tempter’s power ? 

Who like Thyself my guide and stay can be ? 

Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me. 


92 


JIM THE PARSON. 


I fear no foe, with thee at hand to bless, 

Ills have no w r eight and tears no bitterness ; 

Where is death’s sting — where, grave, thy victory ? 

I triumph still, if Thou abide with me. 

Hold Thou thy cross before my closing eyes, 

Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies ; 

Heaven’s morning breaks and earth’s vain shadows flee — 

In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.” 

To Kate’s rich tones the soft and beautiful voice of her 
old friend was added, less in power, but no less in sweet- 
ness and culture. As the prayer ascended, the double 
offering seemed to say : “ All things come of Thee, and 
of Thine own have we given Thee.” 

“ I am glad you are going on Monday, Kate — a week of 
such sympathy would make life impossible without you. 
Sleep fast, my child ; it is twelve o’clock — I am too old to 
learn prudence, but you must keep better hours. Oh, Kate, 
wonderful Kate, first my old piano bursts out into inspira- 
tion, and earth’s music surrounds me, then from the very 
altar seems to rise a prayer-song.” And a loving kiss and 
a good-night blessing stopped the answering words. “ No, 
Kate, don’t contradict me ; I know what music is, and 
from whence its fire is lighted. Good-night — good-night.” 

The darkness passed, and then the sweet, calm Sabbath 
dawned. Sweeter, calmer at Burnside than could be pos- 
sible elsewhere, for every member of the household was 
in harmony with its key-note. The dear old lady — and 
yet I hesitate to say “old,” for nothing with which we as- 
sociate age had touched her, save in a wisdom and a beauty 
of repose that could only be the outcome of a long life of 
trust — the dear old lady on this bright winter day had gone 
nearer than ever to the Glory Land in the extra hour of 
devotion which she allowed herself on the Sabbath. 

A light illumined the soft gray eyes, a halo encircled the 
fair brow. 


JIM THE PARSON. 


93 


“Your hymn last night suggested my topic of medita- 
tion this morning, Kate,” said she, as they met in the hall 
after the refreshment of the quiet sleep that was given to 
the “ beloved ” of this “ House Beautiful.” “ I always take 
some incident of the life of our blessed Lord for my Sab- 
bath morning hour. To-day I read about Zaccheus. His 
anxiety to see the Lord seemed like mere curiosity ; but 
He who sees not as man sees recognized the unspoken 
love. ‘ Make haste and come down, for to-day f must 
abide at thy house/ He had not even asked it in words . 
A little heart-love, a little earnest watching, perhaps a deep 
longing to minister to Him, and he is answered. ‘ I will 
abide at thy house/ No more loneliness with such a guest 
— the abiding is even unto the end of the world. ‘There 
is no dark side to life/ said a young Christian sufferer, one 
day, for her sick-room was brightened by His presence.” 

Kate could sympathize with her friend in her religious 
feelings to a degree. The growth was on the same root ; 
but one was a blossom with petals closed around the germ, 
the other the open flower, giving full fragrance to each 
passer-by. 

When breakfast was over, the carriage was announced ; 
a drive through the brisk winter cold invigorated them. 
A few kind words were exchanged with friends in the porch, 
and then they entered the little church at Brighton to hear 
the new clergyman. 

Mr. Thornton was already in the desk, and they had 
hardly taken their seats when his deep tones pronounced 
an opening sentence of the Episcopal service. The char- 
acteristic of which Kate had heard was at once apparent 
— an earnest spirit revealed itself in every intonation. 

“ The Lord is in His HolyTemple, let all the earth keep 
silence before Him.” 

A hush fell upon the people ; they realized the presence 
of the King. This impression was not lost throughout 


94 


JIM THE PARSON, \ 


the services. The prayers were real prayers, and the 
praises real praises, to a present Lord. His tone was low 
and distinct ; it was heard throughout the building, and 
yet it seemed as if one must be listening to catch it. It 
was addressed to the Lord, not to the people. 

As alternately, according to the old Israelitish ritual, 
pastor and people took up the words, Mrs. Montgomerie, 
who was not what her son termed “ a vigorous Episcopa- 
lian/’ felt her heart warming in the worship, and surprised 
herself by her own fervency. 

She always said that she preferred prayers suggested 
by the needs of the hour, and that formality chilled her, 
explaining, “ that as the people of the world are set in 
families differing in forms of home government, so all are 
privileged to have different forms of worship. The holy 
city will have twelve gates,” she would add, “ though its 
Light is one and indivisible.” 

But I have wandered from the new clergyman, who for 
the second time stood before the Lord to lead the devotions 
of the congregation in the Brighton church. I use the 
words advisedly, for it was just that peculiarity that im- 
pressed the people. Mr. Thornton “ stood before the 
Lord.” One was taken back to the days when Moses 
received his instructions directly from high Heaven, and 
the words “ according to all that the Lord commanded 
him, so did he,” seemed an explanation of every gesture. 
The service over, the praises were led by Luthers grand 
old music, and “ with one consent ” the pastor and peo- 
ple united in its harmonies. The text that followed was 
so in accord with the feeling pervading the whole assem- 
bly, that it was as if they were expecting the words. 
“ And all the people said, Amen ! and praised the Lord ” 
(i Chron. xvi. 36). The sermon was a simple discourse on 
union in worship and in the acceptance of Christ’s work. 

Unaccustomed to hear the Gospel in Old Testament 


JIM 7' HE PARSON. 


95 


story, the congregation listened with deep attention. On 
Mr. Thornton’s first Sunday he had explained the unity of 
the Bible, and had said that he would literally follow the 
Lord’s example when he taught the disciples on that 
“ walk to Emmaus.” The risen Lord, “ beginning at Moses 
and the prophets, expounded unto them in all the Scrip- 
tures the things concerning himself.” So Mr. Thornton 
for his first text took the words of St. Paul, which showed 
that these teachings “ concerning Himself” were “ none 
other things than those which the prophets and Moses did 
say should come : that Christ should suffer, that he should 
be the first that should rise from the dead, and should 
show light unto the people, and to the Gentiles.” 

“ Surely,” said he, “ the glorious doctrine of the Atone- 
ment will be the undisputed corner-stone of the Church, 
if we find it — as our Lord found it — among those wondrous 
revelations given when “ the Lord talked with Moses.” 

But I did not intend to quote two of Mr. Thornton’s 
sermons. One, my readers must endure, as I cannot fully 
describe him unless I tell of it, but these same readers can 
“skip it ” at their option. 

After the announcement of the text, the speaker paused, 
and again a thrill went through his audience, and each one 
recalled the words, “The Lord is in his holy Temple.” 
And then without preface they were taken into the midst 
of one of the most gorgeous of Israel’s ceremonials. It 
would take too long to place the reader where the 
speaker’s clear and graphic description of the scene placed 
his listeners. Suffice it to say, they stood with the hosts 
of Israel, before “the tent that David had pitched for the 
Ark of God,” on its return from the Philistines. They 
saw “the burnt sacrifices and peace-offerings,” and learned 
how Christ was taught in Israel. And when the sacrifices 
were ended they heard the blessing wherewith the people 
were “blessed in the name of the Lord.” 


96 


JIM THE PARSON. 


“The Lord bless thee and keep thee. The Lord make 
his face to shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee. 
The Lord lift up his countenance upon thee, and give thee 
peace.” 

Then they heard of the “ music of the psalteries, and of 
the harps ; of the sounding cymbals, and of the silver 
trumpets.” 

And here the immediate subject was left for a moment 
while they were reminded that the Lord required the best 
of everything from his people. “Israel’s worship,” he 
said, “ ceased to be typical when in the decadence of their 
love they offered Him ‘the torn, and the lame, and the 
sick/ A perfect offering only could typify the true sacri- 
fice, and prove that the offerer understood its significance.” 

“At the conclusion of the services,” continued Mr. 
Thornton, “ David delivered into the hands of Asaph and 
his brethren a psalm which he had prepared for this cele- 
bration. Asaph,” he explained, “ was the chief of those 
whom David had appointed to record, and to thank and 
praise the God of Israel ; and as the psalm was read that 
day, we can imagine the grand choruses which made more 
impressive *its ascription of praise. The whole multitude 
listened with reverence to the words of their poet-king, 
waiting hardly for its close to shout ‘ Amen/ and praise 
the LORD. 

“ And this,” said he, “ brings us to our text, and to the 
two points which I particularly desire you to notice. 1 All 
the people said Amen/ In Israel’s host not one voice 
failed to set this seal to the glory of their God — to Israel’s 
Jehovah, Svho was, who is, who is to come/ 

“ My brethren, when will the ‘ Amen ’ which we are so 
often privileged to repeat come as an acknowledgment of 
Christ’s work, and rise a mighty voice of united praise ? 
It was thus that Israel accepted their God. 

“ The second point of interest is to learn to what the 


JIM THU PARSON. 


97 


host of Israel assented in this national * Amen,”’ (here the 
psalm was read as given in i Chron. xvi. 8-36). “In this 
psalm/’ he continued, “we find ascriptions of praise, rec- 
ords of particular favors to Israel, assertions of the supe- 
riority of their God over the gods of the heathen. Espe- 
cial reference is made to the worship of the heavenly 
bodies, this being an idolatry to which Israel was con- 
tinually tempted by the surrounding nations. That the 
Lord made the heavens, is the unanswerable argument 
for his superiority over its hosts, these very gods of the 
people being commanded to rejoice because the Lord 
reigneth. 

“ A very particular reference is made to the covenants 
and to the future coming of the Lord. The covenants, 
plural because so often repeated, but one only in meaning, 
were to every child of Israel as household words. That 
the descendants of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob were to be 
a great nation, to bless and to be blessed, to possess for- 
ever the land of Canaan, and that from Judah’s tribe vras 
He to come who would rule — a king of peace — over the 
earth, was accepted as their faith. Earnestly are they ad- 
monished in regard to it. ‘ Be ye mindful always of His 
covenant, the word which He commanded to a thousand 
generations, even the covenant which He made with 
Abraham, and of his oath unto Isaac, and hath confirmed 
the same unto Jacob for a law, and to Israel for an ever- 
lasting covenant/ were the words of the king. 

“ There was no lack of knowledge in Israel — priestly 
teachers were appointed by law. Every child knew that 
their fathers first received the covenant individually ; that 
at Sinai it was received amid terrible manifestations of the 
presence of the Lord ; and that the wonderful code of 
laws by which their nation was governed was then added. 
Every child knew that the shout of their nation’s accept- 
ance had echoed among the hills of Horeb. 4 All that the 
7 


9 8 


JIM 7: HE PARSON. 


Lord hath spoken we will do,’ was the unhesitating prom- 
ise. Alas! they knew, too, how often Israel had broken 
their vow and wandered from their King. It was true 
that, so far, Israel’s repentance had always followed Israel’s 
sin ; Israel’s acknowledgment of Jehovah had always fol- 
lowed their denial of him. Again and again had they 
been forgiven, and now, after long wandering into sin, 
their repentance had been accepted, and the Ark of the 
Lord restored. 

“ He that dwelleth between the Cherubim once more 
blessed them with His presence, and in their penitence 
and in their joy they loved much, for they had sinned 
much, and the ‘ Amen ’ of the host ascended as the nation’s 
united offering. 

“ Nearly three thousand years of Israel’s history has 
been written since then. They have blessed and have 
been blessed. They have occupied their land and lost it. 
They have rejected Him whose first coming fulfilled their 
types and their prophecies, and brought the promised 
blessing to the world, and they have almost lost their 
hope that Christ will ever come as King. 

“ But the promise still stands to which the nation then 
assented. Israel may forget, Israel may reject, Israel may 
fall by the way, but the Lord fainteth not, neither is weary, 
and his word cannot fail. Their faith may be but a mem- 
ory, but we are beginning to have an echo of David’s song 
from the hills that stand about Jerusalem. 4 Let the sea 
roar, and the fulness thereof. Let the fields rejoice, and 
all that is therein. Then shall the trees of the wood sing 
out at the presence of the Lord, because he cometh to 
judge the earth.’ 

“ My brethren, shall we be silent when the universe 
sings his glory ? Shall we be silent to whom Israel’s 
hope and Israel’s faith have become a possession ? Nay ! 
4 Let us give thanks unto the Lord, for he is good, for his 


JIM 7' HE PAR SOY. 


99 


mercy endureth forever. Blessed be the Lord God of 
Israel, forever and ever/ 

“And all the people said, ( Amen,’ and praised the 
Lord.” 

When the congregation left the church that day, not a 
word was spoken till they were outside. “ The Lord is in 
His holy Temple, let all the earth keep silence before 
Him,” was the thought of each one. 

“ My dear Kate,” asked Mrs. Montgomerie, as they 
drove home, “did I exclaim ‘Amen’ aloud when Mr. 
Thornton finished his sermon ? I have been trying to 
remember, but I was so carried away by my sympathy 
with Israel at getting their Ark back, and listening with 
them to David's sermon — for it was a sermon — that I am 
not sure I did not shout. Perhaps my instinctive decorum 
restrained me ; did it, my dear ? ” 

Kate laughed. “ I must confess,” she said, “ that you 
so nearly joined with the Israelites that I was rather 
alarmed, but I do not think anyone heard you. What a 
peculiar sermon ! I feel as if I had been to Jerusalem.” 

“And nearly three thousand years ago, too. We are 
going to have something new with Mr. Thornton ; he 
rivets attention, not on himself, but on his subject, in a 
remarkable way ; but not his preaching alone is new — he 
has original ideas about visiting. He refused a dinner at 
Brightside on the plea of preferring to visit each of the 
families of the parish without other guests, and asked per- 
mission to dine with them when they were alone. Louise 
and I were rather disappointed ; we had hoped to make the 
new pastor a centre for various entertainments. Besides 
this, he has no regular study hours, having given out that 
he is always at the service of his people, and will see them 
whenever he is at home. Whether all this is youthful- 
ness, or premature age and experience, remains to be seen.” 


IOO 


JIM THE PARSON, 


“ There is no indication of that youthfulness that makes 
one wish the clergy were born old, and there is a most im- 
pressive and apparent self-consecration about him, as if 
he could not look aside from his subject. I think he is 
old, and lived when David did. Surely no one but an 
eye-witness could have so described that scene at the tent,” 
replied Kate. 

“ It was most graphic ; he has a rare gift of concentra- 
tion, and a man’s audience is what he makes it. He carried 
us with him. He shall have my prayers for his entire 
success. What for the afternoon ? Will you go with me 
to my Bible class, or wait till the evening service ? ” 

“ I would prefer reading at home. I want to read more 
carefully the portion of history to which we were referred 
this morning. Not long ago I made a study of the Old 
Testament ; the wars and backslidings of the Israelites 
seemed to me so dark a portion of their history that I 
have been almost glad to forget it. But now it has a new 
interest. I want to read about the Ark having been at one 
time in the possession of the Philistines, and to look up 
again the meaning of the covenants. After what I have 
heard to-day I mean to try to picture the scenes, to study 
oriental imagery, and to make myself familiar with the 
surroundings. There is an immense deal of interesting 
history in that wonderful book.” 

“Yes, my dear, indeed there is; and when you once 
grasp the idea that the same Lord who suffered on Cal- 
vary spoke from Sinai — when you realize that the Saviour 
who promised to be ever with us was the very Guide and 
Leader of Israel’s host, the whole history becomes a part 
of the revealed life of Christ. I am glad Mr. Thornton 
has begun this teaching. Here we are ! and, oh, Jip — my 
dear little dog, I am just as glad as you are ; do try to be- 
lieve it, before you tear me to pieces.” 

There was another side to the emotions of that Sunday ; 


JIM THE PARSON. 


ioi 

they were referred to in the letter written to May that 
evening by her brother. 

“I missed you more than ever to-day, dear — I wanted 
your sympathy as I tried to carry my hearers back to 
David’s time. It is such a help to be sure that even one 
is with me. There was a new face before me, a face of 
earnest purpose and of deep feeling. I think the soul an- 
swered to mine, and when I was rising in spirit with the 
thoughts of the hymn a clear, silver-toned voice rose and 
carried me to the gate of heaven.” 


CHAPTER XII. 


THE GOOD NEWS. 

The next morning Kate awoke with that most delight- 
ful of sensations, an undefined joy. 

It was some minutes before she could collect her 
thoughts and realize the altered current of her life. She 
had hardly felt the chill of her first plunge into the cold 
world before she Was rescued and revived by hope. When 
she came to Burnside her heart was heavier than she ac- 
knowledged to herself, for, in addition to her own life-prob- 
lem, she had undertaken to solve that of her aunt. She 
tried to forget that her father must have known, and kept 
from her, the condition of his sister, lest she might blame 
him ; but the result was a firm resolution to place her aunt’s 
family in a comfortable position. Mrs. Montgomerie’s love 
and sympathy made this possible sooner than she had 
dared to hope. She could return with a promise of a home 
for them all, while her place as governess would remove all 
anxiety for their support. More than this, Kate’s faith 
was strengthened, and the beautiful influence of the Chris- 
tian character of her hostess bore its accustomed fruit, in 
making a life of daily service seem easy and natural. Re- 
ligion and life-work were now united in her mind a-s never 
before ; there was a day-spring in her heart, life was bright 
once more, and — but here Kate ceased to analyze her 
feelings, as she thought of the new interest with which she 
would study Christ’s work as revealed in the Old Testa- 


JIM THE PARSON. 


103 


ment. In the midst of these reveries a cheery voice called 
from the next room : 

“ Kate, Kate, are you dreaming still? If I welcomed 
the ‘coming, I must speed the parting, guest,’ and you 
must be at the station at ten o’clock.” 

“ Oh, thank you,” cried Kate, springing up ; “I was try- 
ing to realize my happiness before I ventured to touch an 
earth that seemed so unreal.” 

“ My dear, you are romantic ; everything is solid about 
Burnside ; you are dreaming still. Jip, go and say good- 
morning to Kate.” 

Jip rushed on his mission, barking loudly at Kate’s 
door ; her merry answering laugh proved that she could 
be safely left to conclude her toilet. 

“Your dreams are over, I see, dear,” said her friend, as 
they seated themselves at the breakfast-table ; “you look 
a different being from the Kate of last week.” 

“ I am a different Kate altogether,” she replied. “ I am 
the Kate that you have helped and comforted — I’m Kate 
Hopeful now.” 

“You are Kate Flatterer, and you shall read a page in 
1 Pilgrim’s Progress ’ and see what harm Mr. Flatterer did. 
Remember, Kate, all my messages to Mrs. Ray ; and buy 
that box of blocks for the children on your way from the 
depot, so that you can take them in with you ; and tell 
Albert I will have a chest of tools for him, as I must de- 
pend on him to keep the pickets on the fences, and all the 
gates in order ; and give Laura and Ellie the little sachels. 
And, Kate, you are all to come here as soon as the furni- 
ture is sent — but you will be up again before that ” 

“ Yes, dear friend ; for the rest of my life I will be ever 
going from my home to yours, and from yours to mine,” 
and Kate threw her arms around Mrs. Montgomerie and 
strove to whisper her thanks and love, amid her tears of 
gratitude. 


164 


JIM THE PARSON. 


“ I thank you , Kate, for the privilege of lifting one cloud, 
and my Master more, for both the opportunity and the 
power are His gifts.” 

“ The carriage, madam,” said John. 

“ Now, Kate, one more shawl. I cannot go with you to- 
day ; John will go on the box and attend to your luggage. 
Fancy me at work at the cottage in an hour from now. 
Good-by. God bless you, dear.” 

“ Good-by !” cried Polly. “ Come again ! Home sweet 
home ! Carriage for the lady ! Ha, ha ! Grandma, come 
kiss me ! ” 

A few hours took Kate safely to New York. She walked 
to a toy-shop for the blocks, then a street-car carried her 
and her packages safely to her aunt’s lodgings. 

Such joy over her arrival, such a loving welcome, sent 
another thrill of joy to Kate’s heart. “ What am I,” she 
thought, “ that my coming brings such pleasure ?” 

The rooms were truly a fearful contrast to the house she 
had just left; but Kate saw them through “ glorification 
glasses ” now, and wondered that they had seemed so 
hopelessly gloomy before. 

It did not take long to tell her good news, and of the 
marvels that had been accomplished in her delightful 
visit. 

“ Wealth pours in upon us, aunt Alice,” she said ; “ the 
place as governess at Brightside, where your old friend 
lives, and a salary of six hundred a year, with what we had 
before, and our lovely home, will be little short of luxury.” 

“ Luxury, indeed! it is like a dream, Kate. But you 
will speak as if w T e were going to live upon your money. 
I cannot consent to be a burden upon you.” 

“Now, aunt Alice, everything is settled. I cannot 
possibly live alone. The house is engaged — do forget 
‘ mine and thine.’ I do not want the fuss of paying regu- 
lar board and of making minute calculations. You may pay 


JIM THE PARSON. 


io 5 

half of the rent, and then I will ‘ provide,’ as country people 
say. We are all one family, and our money must be used 
for the good of all. No, not a word. There are a thousand 
things to do — and, oh ! my darling children, I forgot the 
blocks. Mrs. Montgomerie sent them.” 

Albert soon opened the box, and Will and Ellie were 
delighted with the houses and barns that their brother 
showed them how to build. 

The trunk came, and the travelling sachels were given 
to Laura and Ellie, and the message to Albert about the 
tools. Nothing could have pleased him more, for he was 
an incipient carpenter, and many of their present comforts 
were owing to his ingenuity. 

Kate had to repeat again and again the description of 
the house — to tell of the piazza, and of the railing to be 
around the roof ; of the garden to be made in the spring, 
of the flowers to be planted, and of the thousand coming 
delights. 

The poor woman in the back room was nearly frantic 
with curiosity at the joyousness, the coming and going, 
and the evident signs of happiness. It was not long be- 
fore she learned a portion of the story, and with her native 
kindliness, offered her services to aid the preparations. 
Kate insisted on her being employed as far as possible, so 
that she and her aunt could have time for other arrange- 
ments. 

The rest of the month of January passed quickly. Mrs. 
Ray’s last debt was paid, the children’s clothes were 
made more suitable for their new home, and Kate’s deft 
fingers were never idle in this service. Her five trunks 
contained materials for many useful additions to the ward- 
robes of her aunt and of Laura, who, after resisting for 
a while, finally yielded, and as Mrs. Ray laughingly said, 
“Kate’s gifts are not a shower, they are a tempest ; resist- 
ance is vain,” 


io6 


JIM THE PARSON. 


“ Give up the idea of gifts/’ replied Kate. “ I am only 
working for the common good. Help me, dear aunt 
Alice ; don’t try to thwart my poor little plans.” 

And so it was decided that they should make Kate 
happy in her own unselfish way. 

Twice she went to Burnside and the cottage to plan and 
arrange for their moving. Mrs. Montgomerie succeeded 
in perfecting her introduction of “ water privileges,” and 
in adding a safe railing to the roof. She also painted and 
partly re-papered, putting on the children’s room a mar- 
vellous variety of birds and flowers, so that wherever they 
looked some brilliant effect of plumage or gorgeous bloom 
would delight their eyes. 

Kate’s furniture seemed to grow in size and quantity, 
for what was but little in a large house proved a great 
addition to so small a one. The parlor was left untouched 
till the summer, but with what was sent from Mrs. Ray’s 
rooms the rest of the house was made comfortable, so 
that in February all was ready. 

The journey was safely accomplished, and a new world 
opened to the little ones, as full of new interests as the 
changed life to their elders. 

Burnside was never more hospitable than on the day of 
their arrival : so many blazing fires, such floods of sunshine, 
such dazzling surroundings of snow-covered lawns, such 
screams from Polly and barks from Jip, seemed to the 
quiet children from the city like a Fourth of July celebra- 
tion. 

At first they were dumb with amazement. Polly ex- 
claimed : “ Bless your dear hearts, I’m so glad to see you. 
’Scat, Jip — ladies to tea,” and Jip adopted the whole party 
at once, scrambling all over the children, and kissing their 
unresisting little faces to his full content. 

Laura was the first to recover her senses, and gathering 
up her charges, swept them off to the room which John 


JIM THE PARSON. 


107 


told her was intended for them. They were soon com- 
posed, and washed and dressed, and told that Jip was not 
to kiss their faces under any consideration ; that they were 
not to put their fingers in Polly’s cage ; that they were 
dear, good darlings, and should go down presently. 

Albert rushed out in the snow, almost beside himself 
with delight at liberty. He ran, he jumped, he made snow- 
balls, he shouted. 

James looked on for a while with amazement, then called 
him to the stable, and did his best to entertain him, but 
could hardly understand his admiration of everything, and 
his hurrahs ! 

“ I ’spec’ you neber seed much country afore, Mars’r 
Ray?” 

“Not for years and years,” replied Albert. “We have 
been shut up a good deal, and I feel as if I never had 
really breathed before. Hurrah !” and he sprang over a 
fence and ran till he was out of breath. 

“Well, I neber did ! ” exclaimed the sable coachman as 
he looked after him ; “ it must be drefful good to feel like 
dat.” 

It was dreadful good, and Albert remembered that first 
day for years. 

In the library there were more quiet but equal signs of 
enjoyment. Mrs. Ray did not hesitate to speak of the 
change as a release from what was almost an imprison- 
ment, and in no measured terms expressed her gratitude. 

Of this Mrs. Montgomerie would not hear, although she 
thoroughly enjoyed those who, when they were happy, 
did not hesitate to say so. 

“Your aunt is lovely,” she confided to Kate ; “ I fancied 
her one of those statuesque beings who seem surrounded 
by a cold moonlight.” 

There had been a very calm acceptance of her former 
position by Mrs. Ray, but she had some difficulty in pre- 


io8 


JIM 7' HE PARSON. 


serving her composure under the present changes, and 
was thoroughly alive to the comforts. There was no “ cold 
moonlight ” about her now. 

“ Where are those dear children ? ” exclaimed Mrs. Mont- 
gomerie, when dinner was announced. “ They are all to 
come to the table ; Kate, find them.” 

They were found up-stairs, quietly amusing themselves 
beside Charlotte — the maid — and were a little frightened 
at the summons to dinner. 

“ You need not be quiet ; talk if you want to, and run 
anywhere. To-morrow Henry and Mary will come to play 
with you. Where is Albert ? I must have everyone,” said 
their hostess, leading them to the dining-room. 

Albert had returned to the house in a very demoralized 
state of costume, and was hastily repairing damages in his 
room. He soon came down, apologizing in a manly way ? 
by giving the true reason for his delay, which much pleased 
Mrs. Montgomerie. 

“ I forgot everything but my freedom,” he said ; “ please 
excuse me to-day.” 

They were soon so entirely “ at home ” that the little 
ones found their voices, and not only enjoyed their dinner, 
but a grand frolic after it, during which Polly chose to be 
contemplative. Nothing could induce her to speak. She 
gazed at them with her head on one side, as if she were 
solving a problem. 

At last the weary little heads were laid on their pillows. 

“Pm not tired, mamma,” said gentle little Elbe, as she 
returned the good-night kiss — “ only tired of holding up 
my good times.” 

“ I’se a seepy ’ittle boy, and de lady in de tap is de 
nicerest lady I ever did see,” was Will’s comment. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


THE NEW HOME. 

When they were all assembled at breakfast, the day after 
their arrival, Kate said : “You must let me have it all my 
own way to-day, aunt Alice. I want Laura to go with me 
to the cottage, where there is still a few hours’ work, and 
we will be ready for you all by four o’clock.” 

“ Had you not better dine here ? ” said Mrs. Montgom- 
erie, heartily sorry to part so soon with her guests. 

“Thanks, kind friend, but we must go some time, and I 
think we had better begin our new life at once. Nora is 
waiting for us. Will you not dine with us instead ? ” 

“ Not to-day, dear. By the by, Kate,” as she followed her 
to the carriage, “ John has put in a basket to. help with 
your first dinner. No, no^— it is nothing. I will come and 
see you to-morrow. Don’t try to walk over while there is 
so much to do.” 

Kate and Laura drove off, followed by the admiring 
eyes of the children, who considered their cousin as a sort 
of fairy godmother, and Laura as at least half illuminated 
by her magic power. 

“ Kate, this is perfect,” exclaimed Laura, when they 
reached the little gate and ran up. to the porch. “It is 
like a doll’s house ; but so beautiful, and in such a lovely 
situation ! ” 

Nora met them with her smiling face, in haste to tell of 
how much she had done. The fires were made, the lamps 


no 


JIM THE PARSON, \ 


were trimmed, and she already waiting for more work. 
At this encouraging account Kate instructed her about 
finishing the rooms, while Laura was exploring the new 
home. 

“You and Ellie in this room,” said Kate, joining her, 
“Aunt Alice and Will in this one opening into it ; and see 
the long windows, with the piazza-roof for a playground.” 

“ If a piazza is under that, it must be like a room.” 

“ It is. I forgot to show it to you. Sixteen feet square — 
the most absurd thing for such a house that you can im- 
agine, and for summer, the most delightful. We will have 
vines twining the pillars, and hanging baskets, till it is a 
flower pavilion.” 

“ Kate, it is like fairy-land ; and this room — this is a 
flower pavilion already, and aviary, too.” 

“Yes, the flower-and-bird paper is lovely. Mrs. Mont- 
gomerie chose that for the children. Now come to my 
room — she would paper it with rose-color. This is my own 
furniture, you know, dear. It looks rather fine in this 
small house. Albert is to sleep here in the hall room. 
His bed nearly fills it ; but he has a good closet, and a 
table by the window.” 

“ Perfect everywhere. Now I must unpack the trunks. 
I want to put all mother’s things in the drawers for her. 
It will not take long,” she said, laughing. 

Kate went below, while Laura arranged drawers and 
closets as she thought her mother would like them ; then 
Albert’s possessions were also cared for — even a place 
found for that heterogeneous mass of odds and ends that 
is so necessary to the happiness and well-being of every 
boy. 

The trunks were emptied, and with much screaming 
and laughing the three girls dragged them up into the 
tiny attic. 

“ Here is another room ! ” exclaimed Laura. 


JIM THE PARSON. 


ir i 


“That is for a future cook, my dear — some creature of 
Mrs. Montgomerie’s imagination. But don’t wait any 
longer ; we have the china to make the best show of, and 
the dining-room to finish. I believe Nora has the kitchen 
in perfect condition.” 

“Yes, indeed ; do come and see,” said the child, who 
had worked like a little woman. 

The fire burned brightly in the stove, the dresser was in 
order, the tins shone like silver ; the long towel in the roller, 
the ice-box just outside of the door, with butter and milk on 
its shelves, and the basket John had brought on the table. 

“ It has dinner in it,” said Nora, who was much pleased 
with the commendation she received ; “ it will only have 
to be warmed up. I know how to do it.” 

“Laura — look ! A pair of chickens roasted, sweet po- 
tatoes, cranberries, apple-sauce, oyster-plant, and a pud- 
ding ! I wonder whether Mrs. Montgomerie ever forgets 
anything ? ” 

“ Kate, what is this closet ? ” 

“A little waiter’s pantry, with water hot and cold, 
heated by the stove. Is it not nice ? And the china 
closet here, and here the drawers for the table-linen.” 

“ Oh, Kate, may I do all this kind of work ? You are to 
be teaching, you know.” 

“Yes, dear; work seems like play now, everything is so 
fresh, so small, and so convenient ; and, Laura, I am so 
happy I don’t know how to show it,” and here Kate burst 
into tears. 

“ My dear, precious Kate, I am glad that you only cry 
because you are happy. Don’t, don’t, Kate ! ” and Laura 
put her arms around her cousin. 

Kate struggled with her tears, and between laughing 
and crying, they managed to set the table for dinner. 

Everything new and bright, for plated ware is as bright 
as silver, and new glass, even if not cut, can send off stars of 


1 1 2 


JIM THE PARSON \ 

light, particularly on a snowy table-cloth. They put the 
lamp in the middle of the table, ready to be lighted, the 
two high chairs for Will and Ellie ; they drew the curtains, 
looked again to see if the wood-box were full, and then sat 
down to think about it. 

Everything was ready ; Nora was making a success of 
the dinner ; the little mantle-clock chimed four, all was pre- 
pared. 

“ I feel as if I had to light a match to touch something 
off,” said Kate. 

“ The hall lamp!” exclaimed Laura, laughing. It had 
been forgotten, but was soon lighted, another lamp put on 
the staircase, the dining-room lamp lighted. 

“ I hope everything won’t disappear,” said Laura. 
“ There they are ! ” 

“Home, aunt Alice !” said Kate, kissing her and the 
cold faces of the children. 

“ Hurrah ! this is jolly ! ” cried Albert. “ Kate, you are 
just the dearest, best girl in the world.” 

“ Oh, don’t, Albert ; come, let me show you your tiny 
room.” Kate ran off up-stairs, while Laura was taking 
care of the others. 

Albert followed. 

“ There, dear boy, can you get in this little place ? Al- 
bert, don’t say anything about me ; I haven’t really done 
much. It all just came out exactly right. I am as 
much surprised as anyone. Don’t let anybody thank me; 
you have all helped, you know, and nothing would have 
been done but for Mrs. Montgomerie.” 

“ I know ; isn’t she a brick ? Don’t be worried, Kate. 
Let’s have our dinner — I hear we are to have one. I’ll 
talk for everybody ! ” 

“ Dinner, Miss Kate, please,” said Nora. 

“ Whew !” cried Albert; “how many servants do you 
keep, please, madam ? ” 


JIM THE PARSON. 


IX 3 


“ This is only a temporary one ! ” laughed Kate, who 
found smiles and tears equally easy. 

The dinner was very gay, thanks to Albert and the chil- 
dren. There was much to tell of Burnside, and of Henry 
and Mary from Brightside, who had passed the day with 
them. 

Mrs. Henry Montgomerie had also been to see her old 
friend, Mrs. Ray, and early associations and pleasures had 
been pleasantly recalled, with a high-bred ignoring of the 
cloudy part of life. 

After dinner Mrs. Ray and the children were intro- 
duced more carefully to their new possessions, but Ellie 
and Will were too sleepy to see much. Their little brains 
were soon reposing, while the elders of the party discussed 
their plans of life. 

“I am afraid, dear aunt, that the only share I can take 
in housework will be the care of my own room, as I will 
be at Brightside from ten until four o’clock every day ex- 
cept Saturday/' 

“ I do not wish you to do anything here, Kate ; you are 
our man of business— — ” 

“ Thank you ; but I would rather feel that I help a little 
in all departments. My money has been nearly expended 
in furnishing and moving, so that yours, with my salary, 
will for this year be our only dependence ; we must, for 
the present, do the principal part of our own work/' 

“ That will be easy,” returned her aunt. “ Do you re- 
member some one giving the definition of a heroine as ‘an 
educated woman doing her own work ?’ Just now I can- 
not see hardship or self-denial in it. When one is work- 
ing for loved ones, for the little ones whom the Master 
loved, it is His work.” 

“ Yes, when we only think about it ; but I fear the actual 
making of fires, for instance, and cooking of dinners, may 
weary one after a while. Then — cleaning a saucepan ! ” 

8 


JIM THE PARS OH. 


114 

“ Oh, Kate, Kate, I always feel like laughing when you 
go into practical remarks ; flowers and laces, poetry and 
music, seem your fitting surroundings ; then, to hear you 
talk of a saucepan is fairly comical/’ 

“ It is one of our womanly privileges to be inconsistent. 
I see the same oddities in you, my stately aunt. When you 
were broiling our steak one morning I thought of Marie 
Antoinette playing farmer’s wife.” 

“ Nonsense ; I am an old worker. But this is play-work. 
I feel as if I had reached Mount Meru — when 

( One oppressed, oh, joy ! hath found a place of rest.* 

Not idleness, Kate — a want of occupation is not rest. By 
the by, Louise Montgomerie proposed that Laura and 
Albert share your instructions at Brightside ; it will give 
stimulus to them all, and will be a great help. But we 
must break up our late talks. Let us sing of ‘ His loving 
kindness’ to-night, dear.” 

As soon as possible after their settlement in the cottage, 
Kate began her duties at Brightside, finding them much 
more pleasant than she had dared to hope. Her charges 
were bright and intelligent, and so much delighted with 
their new governess that in their effort to entertain her 
they were in danger of forgetting they were pupils. 

For some days regular lessons seemed impossible. 

“There is so much to explain before we begin,” said 
Mary. 

“And if you do not know about Carlo, and Frolic, and 
Browser,” added Henry, “of course you cannot under- 
stand how important it is for us to have a recess every now 
and then, to see how they are.” 

Kate consulted Mrs. Montgomerie on these unexpected 
interruptions, and was advised to submit to introductions 
to the animals, and to sympathize in the care the children 
took of them. The result of their education, she thought, 


JIM THE PARSON \ 


lr 5 

would not be affected by it. Kate found this worked very 
well, for when the little brows were knitting over some 
mighty mathematical problem, or when some distracting 
geographical complication of rivers and towns bewildered 
them, a run to the stable with sugar for Frolic, or a race 
with Carlo, disentangled all knots. 

After Laura and Albert joined them, the stimulus of 
companionship gave new life to study, and to the happy 
Brightside children the school hours became a sort of fes- 
tive occasion. The number of recesses was reduced, and 
even their governess found her duties too pleasurable to 
be called “work.” 

If my story were not to follow “Jim ” and his fortunes, 
I would tell of how the pale faces of the city children grew 
fresh and ruddy, and how each day was looked for with 
hope, and then passed into a pleasant memory. It was the 
gift of Burnside to add joy to every life that came within 
its charmed influence. 

In the new home Mrs. Ray and her two younger 
children found constant occupation. They were soon 
strong enough to play out-of-doors, to enjoy the old mill, 
under the kindly care of John Brace, and above all, Nora 
Herndon’s monkey. 

Little Will’s only trouble was the fear that he had not 
found all the play the day might possibly have had in it, 
and Ellie — the thoughtful child — as she gave her good- 
night kiss, whispered : 

“ Do you think heaven can be nicerer, dear mamma?” 

And then Mrs. Ray leaned over her little girl and told 
of joys of which earth has no parallel. It was unwise, 
perhaps, for the eyes grew too bright for mortal child, and 
the brain was wrought to too high a tension. 

“ How soon can we go, mamma ? ” reminded the mother 
that Ellie needed weights rather than wings. 

“ Not till we have done some work for the dear Lord 


ii 6 


JIM THE PARS OiV. 


here, my darling. You must grow to be a strong and 
useful woman first, and while you are a little girl you are 
to help mamma every day.” 

“ Please to get through with me soon, mamma. Good- 
night, dear.” 

“ Was I wrong, Kate ? ” asked her aunt, when she joined 
her niece. “ If I am not utterly truthful to my children, 
how can they learn faith ? ” 

“A good play to-morrow will bring Ellie back again,” 
Kate replied ; “ but I think she needs more physical than 
mental exercise. Never fear, dear aunt Alice, that your 
children will not learn faith and perfect trust. I have 
wondered whether sceptics had good and true mothers.” 

“ It seems to me that faith should never come to a man 
as a new mental exercise. The trust in a Divine love is 
easy to one who has a memory of an unfailing human 
love— and,” added the speaker, growing eloquent with 
her subject, “ when a mother wonders where her son 
learned scepticism, where he learned to question every 
faith, let her review his early years and see if she ful- 
filled the high behest of being for him an example of un- 
flinching truth. Let her see if she has given him one 
stronghold of faith on which he could rest as on a rock.” 

“ Faith should have no memory of a beginning,” said 
Kate. 

“We have wandered from Ellie,” said Mrs. Ray. “ Her 
childish trust needs only to be protected amid the storms 
of life. But it is late — good-night, dear.” 

There were many such conversations between Kate and 
her aunt, and the children reaped the benefit of their 
united care. 

Between the families of Brightside, Burnside, and the 
cottage there was constant intercourse, and even the rigid 
social rules of the new pastor were not opposed to joining 
the family gatherings. Kate became a member of his 


JIM THE PARS OH, 


Ir 7 


church, although the chapel was so much nearer to the 
cottage that Mrs. Ray and the children went there. Her 
lovely voice was soon the leader in the choir. Such mu- 
sic had never before been heard in the little church, for 
the spirit which Mr. Thornton infused into the services 
was followed by the music, as if one soul inspired both. 
The sympathy of his choir was a greater help to the young 
clergyman than he fully understood. He felt it, but with- 
out realizing how important it was to him, and when both 
lie and his people sang praises that were almost jubilant, 
or in low tones rendered their petitions, they felt the in- 
fluence, without recognizing the exquisite taste that adapt- 
ed either to the reading and the sermon. 

To Kate, harmony was a necessity, a roughness an im- 
possibility. Her daily tones were modulated so that they 
seemed to say as much as her words, and when she had 
opportunity to minister in a sick-room her presence was 
a refreshment, greater than the good things she offered. 

Even Mrs. Ray could not soothe her highly organ- 
ized Ellie, as Kate could. The little one listened to her 
as if it were a revelation to the baby soul, and when her 
cousin sang, the unearthly brightness of the always beam- 
ing eyes told of a vision of the spirit-land. She would 
hold her mother’s hand with a close grasp, but fix her eyes 
on her cousin, as if she were communing with her inner 
life. 

It sometimes frightened Mrs. Ray, but “ Sing, cousin 
Kate — sing to Ellie,” was such a longing cry that it was 
vain to resist it. 

Not only in voice, but in dress and all appointments, the 
same harmonious nature was apparent, and Kate’s presence 
anywhere became synonymous with restfulness. She was 
urged to unite with all the social entertainments of 
Brighton, but her father’s recent death, and her daily oc- 
cupations, formed excuses of which she was glad to avail 


JIM THE PARS OH. 


118 

herself. The informal gatherings of the families were 
more to her taste, and in them she and Mr. Thornton con- 
stantly met. The grave young clergyman did not disguise 
his interest, but the lookers-on failed to discover by word 
or sign that to Kate his presence added any charm to the 
hours the friends passed together. Her superb voice was 
as readily raised when Mrs. Montgomerie was the only 
listener as when her pastor stood beside her in rapt at- 
tention. Kate’s heart was apparently safe. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


SARAH DUFFY JUST MISSED IT. 

One evening in the early spring Kate was dining with 
her friend at Burnside. According to their custom, after 
dinner they were enjoying the flickering flame of the 
library fire. The lamps were not lighted, and the friends 
were talking in their own restful way. Kate would some- 
times sing a quaint, wild song ; sometimes, with her head 
resting on the arm of Mrs. Montgomerie’s chair, tell her 
own beautiful thoughts. She was quite still for a while. 

“ Are you asleep, dear ?” asked the elder lady. 

“No, indeed ; I was recalling this ” — and then in a low 
voice she carolled a melody that seemed to have caught 
its beauty from the far-off land of light and song. 

“Will we not speak in musical numbers hereafter?” 
she asked. 

“Certainly — I think so; it seems to me that a perfect 
expression of anything is musical.” 

“Dear friend, what 4 perfect expression' of anything is 
possible here ? ” 

“ Pardon the personality, but what is wanting in that 
last song ? ” 

“ Now you are parrying my question ; we were not 
talking of what some master-mind has already made into 
music, but of daily conversation.” 

“True; and perfection is of course to us an abstract 
idea, but an approach to it is melody.” 

44 I am glad you did not say 4 harmony,’ for I feel that 


120 


JIM THE PARSOM 


cannot be reached till we are tuned to heaven’s key-note. 
A friend of mine said an odd thing one day — she was an 
invalid, and suffering from the weariness of long illness. 
We were speaking of the words, ‘ There shall be no night 
there,’ when she exclaimed : i I cannot fancy complete rest 
without night ; I want a night in my heaven ! ’ I had no 
sympathy with such a feeling ; ‘ night ’ means to me dark - 
ness, and absence of light fills me with horror.” 

“And I cannot fancy a heaven with a night, in which no 
man can work. My idea of heavenly joy is unfailing 
strength for unending work.” 

“ What ! never peace and rest ? ” 

“Always peace and rest. The work of love in which I 
hope to be employed hereafter will have none of the un- 
certainty of work here ; it will be without competition or 
weariness. *' 

“ May I sing to you a few lines which were suggested 
to me by my friend’s idea ? The music is also mine.” 

“ Never ask me if you may sing, Kate ; I can answer in 
the words of the old song once for our whole lives — 

“ Sing away — sing away by day and by night.” 

Kate’s words were these — the music I cannot reproduce : 

Wherefore night, when none are weary ; 

Wherefore night, when none need rest ; 

Why should hang a pall so dreary 

O’er a land with radiance blest ? 

^Wherefore night, when none are sleeping ; 

Wherefore night, if day can last ; 

Why a cloud to hide our weeping, 

When the time for tears is past? 

Wherefore night, when none concealing ; 

Wherefore night, which hides no sin ; 

Why a dread of day’s revealing 

Where our Lord hath entered in? 


JIM THE PARSON, 


12 1 


“ You have given the thought very beautifully, Kate — 
certainly there will be no need of night in our future life.” 

“ The words are simple, but I am glad they give the 
idea. I love a star-light night — then the darkness seems 
pierced, as the child said, with gimlet-holes to let the glory 
through. It is darkness, Egyptian darkness, that terrifies 
me.” And Kate shuddered. 

“ You foolish child ! you remind me of some of the 
children’s speeches. Mary was ‘not afraid of the dark,’ 
but objected to it because she could not ‘tell exactly 
what was coming and one glorious night when the 
moon seemed to make the larger stars more brilliant the 
saying of the child about the gimlet-holes was repeated. 
Harry exclaimed, pointing to the moon : ‘ I think an 
angel must have put his foot through there.’ ” 

At this moment Jip, who had been asleep, barked a 
gentle welcoming bark. “ Someone is hanging a coat on 
the hat-stand, Kate ; do hear Polly’s incivility,” said Mrs. 
Montgomerie. 

“ Scat ! go home ! What are you doing out so late ? Is 
every place shut up ? Go to bed. I’m tired with your 
noise.” 

“ Oh, Polly, what have I done to be so treated ? ” re- 
monstrated Mr. Thornton’s voice as he entered the library. 
“ Please forgive me,” he said, “ for waiting till the song 
was concluded before I announced myself. I came just as 
it began, and as I did not dare to move till it was over I 
heard also about the moon and the stars while I was tak- 
ing off my coat. Now that I have confessed all, am I for- 
given ? ” 

“ I will forgive you fully and freely, though yours was 
confession without penitence ! ” laughingly answered Mrs. 
Montgomerie. “As to Kate, you will have to make a sep- 
arate peace with her.” 

“Miss Acton, was I wrong to wait until you had fin- 


122 JIM THE PA RS ON, 

ished ? Was it not simple civility not to interrupt 
you ? ” 

“ You were quite right on general principles,” replied 
Kate, blushing very unnecessarily. 

“ You would have heard a sketch of your early life had 
you been detained longer. I was about proposing to tell 
Kate some of the incidents which have come to my knowl- 
edge. Perhaps you will tell us yourself now — I believe it 
is not a private history.” 

“ I will tell you with pleasure, if it will at all interest 
you. There is quite a little story of God’s care connected 
with my early life, which has been made so public by my 
grandfather that I need have no hesitation in repeating it. 
He made what is called a 4 Sunday-school book ’ of it. 

“ My earliest recollections are of a home in England — as 
I recall the very shadowy memory, I think an English par- 
sonage ; then a period of my father’s illness ; then a jour- 
ney to Liverpool, a small inn where I remember that my 
father was robbed, and where he died ; then a voyage, and 
a coming to a strange land. This is all very dim. I recall 
privation, and then a room in a tenement-house in New 
York, which came to seem like home, when my mother 
and little sister were there. My mother sewed for our 
support, and as soon as I was able I assisted her by sell- 
ing newspapers, and by such other occupations as a boy 
can find. She often spoke of taking us somewhere as 
soon as we were better clothed ; but she died suddenly, 
and had never told me any particulars about ourselves, or 
where we were to go. I had a general impression that we 
had relatives who would take care of us ; but the world was 
wide and strange, and I knew not where ro find them. 
The daily need to provide for my sister and myself soon 
made me cease to wonder about uncertainties. I contin- 
ued to make a support until I was taken ill ; then little 
May, in her despair, went out to sell my newspapers. 


JIM THE PARSON \ 


123 


She wandered into a church, where she heard the preacher 
give out the text beginning, ‘ Come unto Me.’ The child 
thought he was calling her, and insisted on going to him. 

“ He was interested in the little waif, and went with her 
to see her sick brother. The result was, that he opened 
my father’s Bible to read while he was watching me. His 
own handwriting revealed the fact that we were the chil- 
dren of his only son.” 

“ Oh ! ” exclaimed Kate, whose face was lighted with an 
extraordinary interest. “ And his name was Thornton, 
and I heard that sermon — I do not remember anything 
but the text, and a beautiful child sitting on a bundle of 
newspapers. Was that — could that have been your sister ? ” 

“ The comparison of dates will settle it,” replied Mr. 
Thornton, trying to steady his voice. “ It was twelve 
years ago.” 

“ Exactly,” said Kate ; “ and the Ascension Church. 
I ” She stopped in confusion. 

“ You gave the little child an ermine collar,” he said, 
with intense emotion. “She has it yet. How wonderful 
this is ! ” 

“Most wonderful,” said Mrs. Montgomerie ; “you must 
be the best of friends hereafter.” 

Kate moved away from the fire, which, she said, burned 
her face ; and Mr. Thornton continued : 

“We were taken to the home of our grandparents, where 
we knew no more trouble. I entered the ministry, and 
for my first year helped my grandfather. I am now in my 
first parish ; my sister remains at home.” 

“ Can she not come to us for a visit ? ” 

“ Thank you, my friend ; our grandmother is blind now’, 
and when she puts out her dear white hands, if they did 
not fall on May, she would indeed feel deserted. My sis- 
ter cannot leave at present. The separation is hard for 11s, 
but cannot be avoided.” 


124 JIM THE PARSON . 

“ You have interested us extremely, but you have made 
your story short. ” 

“ Naturally. It was about myself. May I tell you about 
Sarah Duffy now ? ” 

“ Is she better and happier ? ” 

“ She is. Her life has been a strange history of one who 
failed in everything.” 

“ Poor, unfortunate woman ! ” 

“ Pardon me, dear madam — would not earnestness and 
forethought have changed her whole career ? ” 

“ But, Mr. Thornton, do we not often fail just as we 
nearly gain an object ?” 

“ I would be sorry to agree with you, Miss Acton ; but 
surely, if we are permitted nearly to gain our object, it must 
be our own fault if we fail. Let me tell you about Sarah’s 
failures : they will illustrate my meaning. When left de- 
pendent on her own exertions, she lost the place of dis- 
trict school teacher by putting a letter of recommendation 
in the mail too late. She tried sewing, but it was never 
done well or in time. Her next effort was to raise poul- 
try ; but regular feeding was too much for her — they died 
of neglect. She became engaged to be married, but her 
preparations were not completed at the time proposed- — 
the wedding was deferred two weeks. During this delay 
her lover took cold one evening when Sarah’s fire failed to 
burn — he died of pneumonia after a short illness. She 
watched him till the last day ; then, her clock having run 
down, she was too late — he died just before she entered 
the house.” 

“How perfectly absurd!” laughed Kate. “Has she 
missed anything else ? ” 

Mrs. Montgomerie joined in the laugh, exclaiming : “ Tell 
her, Mr. Thornton.” 

“ She missed her footing,” he resumed, gravely, quite un- 
conscious of a jest. *• A plank was broken in a little foot- 


JIM T. HE PARSON, 


I2 5 


bridge opposite her door; she failed to step over it — a 
broken leg was the result. She then delayed sending for a 
physician until it was almost impossible to set it, and now 
in her illness she says she is ‘ real discouraged/ ” 

Kate could not control her mirth, but tried to ask with 
proper composure : 

“What can you do ? Can you mend the broken links of 
such a life ? ” 

“ But little can be done with these habits of negligence, 
but I will strive to keep her from missing the future help 
she so greatly needs.” 

“ Kate, we must agree with Mr. Thornton that a more 
earnest purpose would have saved Sarah Du ff y,” said Mrs. 
Montgomery. 

But Kate had seen the ridiculous side of Miss Duffy’s 
career too strongly to be able to repress her amusement, 
and Mr. Thornton’s exceeding gravity, although it made 
it a necessity, rendered her incapable of a reply. Fortu- 
nately, John entered with the tea-service, and Kate hid her 
laughing face behind the urn. 

The Burnside entertainments were always without for- 
mality ; and after John had assured himself that he had 
done and brought everything that could possibly be 
needed, had put on more wood, and signified to Miss 
Acton, by laying his hand upon the bell, that he would be 
within call, reluctantly left the room. Kate filled the lit- 
tle cups, declining Mr. Thornton’s assistance in handing 
them. “You forget I am a bachelor, and know all about 
tea,” he remonstrated. 

“ I remember you are a guest,” said Kate, hardly daring 
to trust her voice, “ and I am at home, you know.” 

“Entirely and always,” said Mrs. Montgomerie, adding, 
with a look of amusement : “ I would like Mr. Thornton 
to be at home here also.” 

“ Thank you, but I am afraid of Miss Acton,” he said, 


126 JIM THE PARS OH 

with the faintest gleam of mischief passing over his 
face. 

Kate glanced a surprised look at him. 

“ Afraid of me ! ” 

“Yes,” he answered, bravely. “ I am never quite sure 
of how you will receive any proposition I may make. I 
Would not dare to sav this if my firm friend Mrs. Mont- 
gomerie were not here to defend me.” 

“ I am sorry I am so alarming,” she returned, partly 
vexed and partly amused ; “you need never fear that I 
could shadow, in any way, the hospitality of Burnside. 
This is the ‘ House Beautiful,’ you know.” 

“And in it,” returned Mr. Thornton, quoting Bunyan’s 
description, “is ‘music in the house, music in the heart, 
and music aiso in heaven, for joy that we are here.’ ” 

The tears were in Mrs. Montgomerie’s eyes, and she took 
up the parable, adding : “ When they had supped, they 
ended with a psalm.” She looked at Kate, who never 
failed in a response. In a moment the three thankful 
hearts were offering their united praises in the words : 

“When all thy mercies, O my God, 

My rising soul surveys, 

Transported with the view, 

I’m lost in wonder, love, and praise. “ 


There was a pause after the hymn ; no one spoke — but 
Polly ! In distinct tones she called : 

“ Good-night. Go home ! ” 

Kate was feeling as if smiles and tears were equally 
near, and this sudden break into their rather overwrought 
condition was too much for her — she began to laugh again. 

Mr. Thornton rose hastily. “There is no help for it,” 
he said ; “ Polly reminds me that I have already made a 
long visit.” 


JIM THE PARSON , . 


127 


“ No, no, it is early,” exclaimed the hostess, rather 
shocked at both Polly and Kate. 

“ I must go,” he said, gently. “ May I escort you to 
the cottage, Miss Acton?” In fact, “ Jim the Parson” 
was saying very loving words, in his heart of hearts, to this 
changeful Kate, and longed that she might hear them ; but 
Kate took alarm at the look of entreaty that accompanied 
his request, and hastily answered : 

“ Thank you, my evening is not half over.” 

The young pastor took his leave. When he was on the 
piazza he looked at his watch by the light from the win- 
dow. It was nearly ten o’clock. “ She has made it very 
plain,” he sighed ; “ I am never to see her alone.” 

“ I did not behave well,” said Kate, with a sigh that the 
spirit of the air took as an echo to the one outside ; “ but 
he has such a way of looking at me as if I were a problem.” 

“ Are you quite sure you are not ? ” asked her friend, 
smiling. 

“ Quite. It was rather embarrassing to have given that 
collar to his sister. I did not realize it at first. Then his sol- 
emn descripton of that ridiculous woman — it was too much 
to endure. I am very matter-of-fact — no problem at all.” 

“Yes, dear, very ; as much so as a star, for instance; 
you do your part in the great universe, steadily and truly, 
but you twinkle and winkle, and hide behind clouds, and 
come out again — and ” 

Kate put her arms around her. “Not another word; 
you are the most fanciful being I ever saw. Now tell me 
plainly whether you do not think Mr. Thornton might 
laugh occasionally ? ” 

“I think a glint of a smile that passes over his face is 
the most perfect expression of appreciation I ever saw.” 

“ You are non-committal to-night ; come, drive home 
with me.” 

“ The evening is not half over,” was the answer. 


CHAPTER XV. 


SHE WILL AND SHE WON’T. 

Summer came — bright, beautiful summer. Roses 
covered the porch, and vines climbed the arches of the 
“grand piazza.” The flower - decorated tea-table there, 
with its fruits and white rolls, and the fair young girls who 
served in this Arcadia, made Mr. Montgomerie talk of Mr. 
Phoebus and his Greek Isle, and Mr. Thornton think hope- 
fully of the coming Feast of Tabernacles. There being 
no road past the cottage, no passers-by disturbed their 
privacy, nor were there servants to comment upon a 
phase of life they could not comprehend. Between the 
parlor and the stream Kate had raised a mound of flowers. 
Everything that was richly scented she planted there, 
surrounding the delicious odors with a border of heart’s- 
ease. 

“ I love to see their darling little faces looking at me 
when I come to say ‘ good-morning,’ ” she explained; so 
the flowers turned to her with a smile as she cared for 
their health and comfort, and opened their eyes to watch 
her coming. To Mr. Thornton her morning service in 
her garden seemed as attractive as her evening song of 
life in the flower-pavilion ; for before as well as after his 
parish duties he usually went to the cottage, under a 
vague impression that a family of ladies might want some- 
thing. Mrs. Herndon and John Brace thought the need 
was on the pastor’s side ; but people will talk, you know. 

Kate had ceased to object to his gravity; the “glint 


JIM THE PARS OH. 


129 


of a smile ” was full remuneration for her liveliest moods ; 
his puzzled expression was becoming interesting. To him 
she was still a problem : he saw a rounded and beautiful 
character, a strong purpose, and a Christian life ; and as 
he contemplated it with an expression of which Kate could 
not guess the meaning the merriest and most musical of 
laughs would fairly startle him. “ I wish May were here,” 
was his hopeless thought. There were times, however, 
when Kate was serious, and many an earnest conversation 
helped them both. He called her “ Kate ” now, when 
they were alone, and she no longer avoided him. It 
vexed her occasionally to hear the village gossip which 
connected their names ; but she did not feel obliged to 
give up her friend because busybodies called him her 
lover. She had heard all the missing incidents of his early 
life, and she and May were regular correspondents ; the 
affair of the ermine collar had lost its embarrassments, so 
that during the summer the young couple became very well 
acquainted, “ considering.” 

In the autumn Mr. Thornton was summoned to the 
death-bed of both his grandparents. They had served the 
Master together for fifty years, and together they passed 
the gate, and entered the glory-land. All that was theirs 
on earth was left to “ the children,” excepting a provision 
for Sarah and Richard. These faithful servitors had some 
time before united their work and their fortunes. It was ac- 
complished with characteristic brevity and straightforward- 
ness. Richard said, one day : “ We’ve got to live together, 
anyway ; don’t you think it’s easier pullin’ in one yoke ? ” 

The wise virgin who had secretly adored Richard for 
twenty years, and sewed for him for love, gave no evi- 
dence of her elation. She said, composedly : 

“ I ain’t pertickler. If it’s best, it had better be. Jest 
as you say, Richard.” 

“ \Yell, I sav it’s best/? 

. 9 


iio 


JIM THE PARS OH. 


“ Very well, I'm willin',” which direct assent closed 
the courtship. One afternoon, after the house was “ redd 
up,” Richard put on his Sunday coat, and Sarah her new 
alpaca, and they were married. One endowed the other 
with his worldly* goods, and the other sedately promised 
to obey. After this they took a walk in the graveyard, 
then returned and “ got tea” as usual. 

Sarah wondered a little if it would have been different 
if she had been younger, and Richard had one — promptly 
suppressed — memory of a blue-eyed girl who was a ma- 
tron then. These two thoughts constituted the romance 
of their wedding. 

And yet — as I think it over — was there no romance, as 
Sarah ever afterward tenderly protected the alpaca from 
spot or stain, and brushed the Sunday coat with a sort 
of reverence ? Was there none in the feeling of pride 
with which Richard came to look upon his stately gray- 
haired bride, and the way in which he called her wife ? 

The offer of the vestry to buy the parsonage was de- 
clined for the present, and Richard and Sarah left in 
charge. “ Let everything stand as it is — the music-book 
on the organ, the knitting on the sofa, and the Bible open. 
Only dust them, Sarah, till we return.” 

Then May accepted the invitation to go to Burnside un- 
til her brother could find a suitable house. She thought 
she knew how Jip would bark, and how Polly would 
scream, and how the dear hostess would be standing on 
the piazza to welcome her. But May found that neither 
words nor letters had told her how she would be folded in 
loving arms, and how peace and rest would enwrap her 
like a garment. No words could tell how care fled from 
a household where all were of one heart and one mind, nor 
how smooth was the path from which the presence of the 
“ Lady of Burnside ” removed all stones. “Howl ever 
lived without you two girls,” exclaimed the old lady, “ I can* 


JIM THE PARSON. \ 131 

not imagine and May wondered that life had not seemed 
incomplete before she knew this “ House Beautiful. ” 

About half a mile below the cottage, farther down the 
stream, and just before it reached the Sound, was a grove 
of pines. It was a favorite resort of Kate in the hours 
when she needed the recreation of solitude. 

One Saturday morning she betook herself to this spot 
to gather cones, and supposed her object was to prepare 
for instructing the children in cone-work. When her bas- 
ket was filled, she threw its contents, one by one, upon 
the glittering water. She was given to soliloquizing, and 
inquired of herself why she had done this. 

A voice beside her answered : 

“ I have not the faintest idea ; your work has been fruit- 
less, Kate. I heard you were gathering cones, and now 
they are floating on the stream.” 

Kate did not start : she knew that she expected him — she 
did not seem surprised that Mr. Thornton answered her, 
but moved a little that he might sit beside her. 

“ I was watching them float down the stream ; they will 
land on some island, and another pine-grove will spring 
up ; then some poor sailor will be wrecked, and find shel- 
ter there. Nothing is lost, you know ; everything does its 
work.” 

“ Yes ; but some work is of more avail than your future 
grove. Was its planting your object ?” 

Kate laughed a low laugh, but made no reply. 

“Nor was the cone question mine,” he continued. “I 
have sought you this morning, Kate, to ask that you will 
be my wife. Not only to make my home an Eden, but to 
stand by my side in the life-battle. I will not tell you of 
green pastures and still waters, for we are here to struggle 
for the right ; but I will promise not to take you where 
we cannot find the shelter and the shadow of the great 
Rock. Will you come, Kate, with me and little May?” 


132 


JIM THE PARSON \ 


His hand was held toward her ; she laid her hand in his. 

“Stop a moment,” she said, for he was about to con- 
sider that the gift of Kate’s hand was the gift of Kate’s self. 
“My promise must be fora distant future. My heart you 
have long had unasked. I will not take it back. I can- 
not be your wife, dear James, until my present life-work 
is done. Can you trust and wait ? ” 

“I can trust you, Kate, more easily than I can wait for 
you. What work is there that we cannot do together? 
and whose life-work is done till life is over ? ” 

“You cannot help me in mine. Aunt Alice has told 
you of the state of destitution in which I found her ; but 
she has not told you that during the years of her poverty 
her own brother and I were living in luxury. She will not 
accept direct gifts of money. I can only help by being 
one of the family, and by putting my earnings in the com- 
mon stock. I must see her future assured before I can 
leave her.” 

“ Do you propose to support them till the children are 
married or settled in business ?” 

Kate laughed at the gravity with which this stupendous 
question was asked, but made haste to control her mirth 
when she saw the expression of wonder with which she 
was regarded; for after all Mr. Thornton’s study of her 
character he had failed to discover what so often made 
her eyes dance amid the gravest of life’s questions. 

Kate soon replied earnestly enough to satisfy even this 
most serious of lovers. 

“ It is my solemn duty to remain until J^aura can take 
my place ; until then ” 

“ You and I must live apart,” added Mr. Thornton, 
drawing her to him as if apart had no meaning. 

“Will you trust me, James ?” she asked again. 

“Trust you ? Yes, forever; but can you not give me 
some certain end to my probation ? ” 


JIM THE PARS OH 


! 33 


“And if I do— if I say five years — suppose I am ready 
before that, shall I come and say so ?” 

“Yes,” he said, simply, “to-morrow, if you can ; or 
rather, I will come every day, and say, ‘ Are you ready, 
Kate ?’ ” 

The tears came in Kate’s eyes at this perfection of truth 
and trust, and her life-work looked long and weary. 

“You were mistaken in one thing, my own Kate,” he 
continued. “ You did not give your love ‘ unasked.’ I 
have asked for it every day since the first one on which I 
saw your earnest eyes in our little church.” 

“ The day you preached that wonderful sermon on the 
‘Amen ’ of Israel ? ” 

“My text was, ‘And all the people said Amen and 
praised the Lord.’ Your heart joined mine that day ; I 
felt as if I heard its throb. Did you know what mine 
said to you ? ” 

“ No, I was struggling with my own.” 

“Then afterward, when those grand old psalms were 
sent above by your winged tones ; when, no matter what 
has been the subject of my sermon, you have found a way 
to intensify it, did you know that my soul had found its 
mate ?” 

“ No, no, James; not till this summer.” 

“ Long ago I would have spoken, but with the words on 
my lips, I have turned away before some merry joke of 
yours, and told myself I was mistaken. I do not know 
you yet, Kate ; I fancy I have fathomed half the mysteries 
of your beautiful soul, and then you bewilder me again.” 

“ When you have 4 fathomed ’ the other half, and I am 
your prosaic wife, you will wonder at your idealization of 
an every-day character.” 

“ Once my wife, Kate, the whole mystery will be my 
daily joy. Now I must go. Remember, as soon as you 
see a release, you are to tell me. Meanwhile, in so far as 


134 


JIM THE PARSON. 


we can find happiness in our knowledge of a love for both 
worlds , we will accept the boon.” 

The birds heard the last whisper, and saw the seal that 
was put upon the vow ; then Kate was alone with her new 
joy, and— 

“ The beating of her own heart 
Was all the sound she heard.” 

As soon as released from some pressing parish work, 
James Thornton went to his sister with the story of his dis- 
appointment. 

May took a very consoling view of the subject. 

“ I love her better than ever, Jim. We will have the 
brightest home in the world ready for her. Think what it 
is to have the love of such a woman — of one to whom duty 
is first. She is intended for you, dear old Jim — do not be 
discouraged.” 

And “Jim” was not discouraged, for iiis condition had 
many ameliorations. 

The parish, through its various society mouths, was 
graciously pleased to signify its approval of the engage- 
ment, though by degrees its length received condemnation. 

“ What keeps that Kate Acton back beats me," said the 
head gossip ; and she never found out. 

With the “ Lady of Burnside ” there were many con- 
fidential talks ; yet even her desire that everyone should 
be happy without delay could not combat Kate’s decision, 
nor her determination that her aunt should never know 
why the marriage was deferred. 

The only argument to which any force could be given 
was, that Mrs. Ray was placed in a false position. 

“ Kate, she would do anything on earth rather than ac- 
cept this sacrifice from you.” 

“ I know it,” quietly returned Kate ; “and therefore she 
must never suspect it. She would return to the exact po- 


JIM THE PARSON. 


135 


sition in which I found her ; for I see that no effort on her 
part is possible to obtain support. She does all the work 
of the house, and all the sewing for herself and four chil- 
dren. She scarcely allows herself a glance at a book ; she 
buries her various accomplishments ; she visits only here 
and at Brightside.” 

“My dear, can it be possible there is so much sewing ?” 

“ In comparison to what was needed before, the increase 
is tenfold. The children are strong and well, except Ellie, 
and the havoc the two boys make of their clothes is amaz- 
ing. When new clothes cannot be procured, the mending 
of old ones is weary work ; besides this, she teaches the 
two little children. I cannot entirely explain why I con- 
sider her a sacred charge — you must bear with me till I 
feel my duty accomplished. ” 

And Mrs. Montgomerie ceased to urge the matter, lov- 
ing her young friend more truly than ever. 

Even Mrs. Ray innocently urged the marriage. The 
question of finances did come into the widow’s mind, but 
several modes of increasing her little store seemed feasible 
to her, although her niece considered them impossible, 
such as teaching a small school, or taking someone to 
board in Kate’s pretty room. Never for a moment did she 
imagine that Kate was putting aside for her every dollar 
she could save, and striving to educate Laura so that she 
could procure a situation as a teacher. 

“ Why do you not begin your preparations ?” she asked, 
one day. “There is something pathetic in the look of pa- 
tient devotion that Mr. Thornton wears. Every possible 
hour is given to you, and May is almost as devoted.” 

“We have no idea of being married yet,” Kate replied, 
“and I don’t need any particular preparation. We will 
make up our minds some day, and have it all quietly ovei 
with, settling down into old married people before you 
have time to think about it,” 




JIM THE PARSON. 


“ You unromantic child, I wish I could tell why you 
feel as you do. Are you sure you love him ? He is so 
grave, and takes such a serious view of everything — per- 
haps you will weary of being kept up to such a height of 
solemnity.” 

“ I will never weary of him, dear aunt Alice. I am very 
sure that I love him. Please do not ask why I wish to 
delay longer. We are very happy, and I am sure I do 
not interfere with his work in any way. Indeed , l have a 
good reason.” 

“ It’s like a long preface to a good novel,” said her aunt. 

“ Except one great difference — in this case I find the 
preface very interesting, and mean to read every word of 
it ; the novel is more uncertain,” laughed Kate. 

The refreshment of all was sought at Burnside, for 
there were sometimes wearied spirits in overworked 
bodies that needed the complete rest to be found only 
there. Kate and May loved to open the door whose latch- 
string was always outside and be welcomed as only the 
“Lady of Burnside ” could welcome them. 

“ Oh, May ! my spring-time, my bird of promise ! and 
Kate — ‘ bonny Kate, my super-dainty Kate ! * I cannot tell 
which of you I admire the most — as styles of architecture 
simply, I mean,” and the old lady would hold them at 
arm’s-length, as if the problem were too deep for her. 

Many others found it equally hard to solve ; for May, 
with her golden hair and dark eyes, and sunshiny expres- 
sion, contrasted strongly with Kate, tall and fair, a very 
queen of women, with dark-brown hair in heavy rolls 
crowning her beauty. 

“ The difficulty about you, Kate, is that you were in- 
tended for a stately, impassible woman, and yet every 
emotion shimmers and dances in your eyes. You are a 
very contradictory person, my dear. Now, as for May, one 
understands her at once. I think it very unkind in you 


JIM THE PARSON, 137 

to be so different. How can I at my age adapt myself to 
you both ? ” 

And so the old lady made merry with her young friends, 
proving that, as had been said of her — the spirit has no 
age. It was ever sympathizing, ever stretching its wings 
to some needy soul. 

There was no loneliness in Mrs. Montgomerie’s life ; giv- 
ing all and asking nothing, she had her reward in “full 
measure, pressed down, and running over. ” 

Mr. Thornton’s rule of visiting only in a strictly social 
way was at last understood. He claimed the privilege of 
sitting at the table with any of his parishioners at whose 
house he chanced to be at their hours of meals. When they 
comprehended that he wished no changes made for him, 
and that he took his tea at a farmer’s table as often as at 
Brightside or Burnside, the satisfaction of his people was 
very great. They were quite willing to yield some of 
their claims to Miss Acton, but their pastor did not ask 
even this. 

His work was no sacrifice — it was his first love. “You 
are second only to this,” he told Kate. 

So the winter passed ; the pastor labored unremittingly, 
bringing his people nearer to the life of faith and trust of 
which his was so beautiful an exponent, while Kate and 
May, in loving rivalry, gave all possible help in the fem- 
inine branches of parish work. 

One of Kate’s little pupils, who was a very executive 
young person, said to her mother : 

“ I am glad they are going to be married ; everybody 
said they ought to be ; but Mr. Thornton is so unthinkfuL 
I was afraid he would neglect his duty. I was going to 
tell him about it.” 

“ I am glad you did not,” said the rather alarmed 
mother, “ for if he did not think of it, it was best not to 
remind him.” 


138 


JIM 7' UK PARSON. 


“ But, mamma, he forgets things for himself, you know, 
and papa says it’s his duty to take more care of himself.” 

Mrs. Montgomerie left her little girl’s ideas to be cor- 
rected by time, and she and Kate laughed heartily over 
the neglected duty. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


MR. HOGEBOOM. 

Then another summer came. The happiness of her 
aunt’s family was Kate’s reward. Mrs. Ray knew she was 
helped by Kate’s sweet companionship, but did not guess 
how much by her daily labor ; for Kate always professed 
to want whatever she saw needed by the others. One 
evening she was alone on the porch, wishing for the time 
when she might answer Mr. Thornton’s daily question af- 
firmatively. But, oh ! the money accumulated so slowly. 

“ I wish you were a great nugget of gold, and would 
drop at my feet,” she said to the moon, which was sailing 
overhead with cool indifference. The man in the moon, 
overhearing this rapacious remark, proposed to his queen 
to deck the young lady in a silver robe. A molten flood 
was poured upon her, and she was so beautiful, dressed 
in the silver gift, that the imprisoned man was fain to hide 
his eyes behind a cloud. 

“ Why did that envious cloud come ? ” exclaimed the 
unconscious object of his adoration. “ I was just learning 
a lesson of hope from the spreading of the glory over every 
bush and tree. I cannot be hopeful in the dark.” 

Then Kate looked up , and the queen of night recognized 
the silent homage, and threw upon the passing cloud the 
colors of the bow of promise, so that it lost its darkness, 
and wafted away among the stars, soft and feathery as an 
angel’s wing. 


140 


JIM THE PARSON. 


“ I accept it,” said Kate, “you beautiful rainbow-tipped 
glory. I hope! I hope ! ” 

An earthly sound called her from this rapt frame of 
mind — the rattle of the one livery carriage of Brighton. 
It stopped with a clatter which seemed as if it must be its 
last. 

“ Here we be ! ” exclaimed the voice of the owner of the 
establishment. 

“ Very good,” replied a solemn voice ; “is this the resi- 
dence of Mrs. Ray?” 

“ Tis, or I wouldn’t have brought you here. Somebody 
is on the piaz’ ; go ahead ! ” 

“ Ahead ” he went, in measured steps, and in stately 
tones asked to see Mrs. Ray. Kate ushered him into the 
cool summer parlor, half lighted by the moon and half by 
a shaded lamp ; then, forgetting clouds, rainbows, and an- 
gels’ wings, exclaimed, as she found her aunt — 

“Come down, Aunt Alice ; Trask has brought the grim- 
mest man you ever saw ! ” 

“What does Trask mean ? Excuse me to him, dear.” 

“ No, indeed ; it is very important. I know he would 
not have come for any small matter.” 

“ Kate, you frighten me to death ! he may be crazy. 
Stay close by the door, to call Trask.” 

“I don’t fancy listening; there may be a secret ” 

“ Then I won’t go down — promise you will stay.” 

Kate promised, and Mrs. Ray went to her guest. 

“ Mrs. Ray, I presume ; ” he bowed stiffly. 

Mrs. Ray bowed assent, and waited further light. 

“ I am a lawyer, madam. I have had much trouble in 
finding you ; my name is Hogeboom, madam.” 

“I was not aware you were seeking me, Mr. Hoge ” 

“Boom, madam,” he exclaimed, explosively. 

“Boom ! ” returned Mrs. Ray, flustered with alarm, and 
the consciousness that Kate was laughing. 


JIM THE PARSON. 


141 

“ Hogeboom, madam, is my name ! ” (indignantly). 

“ Hogeboom, I mean, sir. I mean, Mr. Hogeboom, pray 
sit down.” 

The rustle of Kate’s dress, as she fled to the porch, made 
her aunt incoherent. The lawyer looked daggers at his 
hostess, who made an effort to recover herself, explaining : 

“One who has lost as much as I, Mr. Hogeboom, must 
be pardoned for alarm at the sudden appearance of a law- 
yer.” 

“ I was naturally unprepared for exciting alarm, madam. 
I have come to announce the death — a month ago — of your 
husband’s brother.” 

“ Our papers come irregularly ; I regret I did not see a 
notice of it.” 

“ It took place, madam. I cannot suppose it will be a 
grief to you. You have never seen him ? ” 

“ I have not. My husband wished to take me to Cuba, 
but trouble, illness, and his death prevented.” 

“ Will you oblige me by stating, if possible, madam, 
your husband’s reasons for not applying to his brother 
when in monetary troubles ? ” 

“ He wrote twice ; but receiving no answer, he supposed 
he was unwilling to assist him.” 

“ The letters were not received, madam. My client, 
C. E. Ray, felt much aggrieved when he learned that his 
brother had died and left his family in comparative pov- 
erty.” 

“Actual poverty,” said Mrs. Ray. 

“ Actual poverty, I regret to learn, madam. ‘ Compar- 
ative poverty ’ were the words of my client.” 

Mrs. Ray bowed. 

“ He wished to offer the help so proudly unasked.” 

“ Not at all, Mr. Hogeboom ; my husband wrote twice.” 

“ The letters, I have stated, were not received. With 
your permission I will proceed, omitting the repetition of 


142 


JIM THE PARSON, 


the offensive words. Failing to discover the family of his 
brother, my client could only suppose they were wilfully 
secreted.” 

“ Oh, what a mistake ! ” exclaimed the much-tried lis- 
tener. 

“ Madam, will you allow me to proceed ?” 

No objection being made, he proceeded : 

“ My client finally learned the residence of the family in 
a so-called tenement-house. He sent a lawyer, to find that 
they had removed. The failure to trace the erratic move- 
ments of his brother’s widow was reported.” 

Mrs. Ray held up her hands in despair. 

“ My client was taken ill. He made a conditional will. 
You are doubtless aware he had no heirs. His life was 
devoted to his estate. This is what in Cuba is called an 
hato , or a grazing farm. He was successful in both Dur- 
ham and Devonshire breeds, through his skill in cultivat- 
ing Pard grass, which has been introduced into Cuba. 
How to dispose of his accumulated wealth became — in 
view of his impending death — of importance.” 

Mrs. Ray could think of no reply to this self-evident 
proposition, so she bowed again. 

“You follow me, madam?” 

“ I do,” returned Mrs. Ray, “with much interest.” 

“ Naturally, madam. My client’s brother’s children are 
his natural heirs. His will — a subject of much thought 
to my client and myself — I will here state we were per- 
sonal friends” (Mr. Hogeboom enjoyed the suspense of 
his listener) — “his will, as I have stated, was conditional, 
the whole property, real and personal, being left to the 
children of his brother, William Albert Ray, subject to a 
specified life-rent for the widow, in case the family should 
be discovered within five years. If, after that time, they 
were still in undiseoverable seclusion, other disposition to 
be made of the property. To me he intrusted the charge 


JIM THE PARS OH. 


*43 


of finding his heirs. I have passed two entire weeks, 
madam, in seeking your residence.” 

“I assure you, Mr. Hogeboom, I had no idea of secret- 
ing myself. My whole income was three hundred dollars 
a year. The strictest economy only enabled me to sup- 
port the family on this. I could not continue any social 
relations ; I became a hard-working woman, and by de- 
grees was forgotten. Life in a great city is reciprocal ; no 
one was unkind — I was only left to myself. Our removal 
to this lovely home was through the efforts of my own 
niece, who shares her small income with me. If it had not 
been for this, you would have found me in my poverty.” 

“ I am happy, madam, that a portion of your widowhood 
has been passed in comparative comfort. You will now 
be able to choose any residence you desire. I will place 
four thousand dollars in your hands to-morrow for imme- 
diate convenience, after which your own life-rent and a 
proper sum for each child will be sent quarterly.” At this 
statistical announcement, proving the entire sanity of the 
visitor and the inexpediency of calling Trask to eject him, 
Kate left her post and ran to the little kitchen, where 
Laura found her preparing a delicious supper. Reck- 
lessly she was destroying the next day’s dinner to make a 
chicken salad, and wildly opening preserves intended for 
the winter. Laura was in alarm at these proceedings. 

“What is it, Kate ?” she exclaimed ; “ is Mr. Thornton 
here ? ” 

“ No, indeed ; it’s Jason with the Golden Fleece. Cut 
the bread, dear, while I press the butter into a pineapple.” 

“ I believe you have lost your mind, Kate ; who is the 
man I hear talking ?” 

“ A Mr. Hogeboom ; oh ! ” — and she stopped to laugh 
— “don’t call him Boom , my dear.” 

“Why should I say Boom, if his name is Hogeboom ? ” 
asked Laura, half offended. 


144 


JIM 7 HE PARSON \ 


“ Forgive me, dear ; you will know all soon. Now the 
table looks lovely! No; some roses around this dish — 
and candles — candles , Laura ; how can you be so plebeian as 
to place a lamp on a supper-table ! Now look vour love- 
liest, and in your most distinct and dulcet tone invite Mr. 
Hogeboom and your mother to supper.” 

Laura was thoroughly mystified, but went with the in- 
vitation. 

“ Kate — cousin Kate — who’s having supper and good 
times down-stairs ? ” called Elbe, as her little white-robed 
figure appeared at the landing. 

“ Everybody ; and if you go to bed and leave your door 
open you can hear all we say ; and after a while I will 
come and tell you about it.” 

Which disposal of the young lady showed Kate’s wis- 
dom. The usual soporific given to inquiring children, 
that “ It is nothing ; be good and go to sleep,” generally 
has the effect of arousing all their energies to discover the 
hidden secret. In this case, Ellie lay down to listen, and 
was asleep in five minutes. 

Meanwhile, Mrs. Ray had fully satisfied Mr. Hogeboom 
as to her appreciation of this most unexpected good for- 
tune, and also invited him to remain at the cottage. This 
he declined, but accepted Laura’s invitation to supper 
with wonderful alacrity for such a dignified personage. 
In truth, he was aching for another glimpse of the young 
lady who stood on the moonlit porch. 

Kate at once proceeded to fascinate him by the most 
careful utterance of his name, thorough respect for his 
mission, and by her devotion to his creature comforts. 

He pronounced the salad “ exceedingly well com- 
pounded the bread, “ light, madam, as any ever made in 
my former client’s well-regulated household ; ” the butter, 

worthy of our own dairy, taking the liberty of using the 
pronoun ‘our,’ madam, because I was in some measure a 


JIM THE PARSON. 145 

partner of my former client in the importation of Devon- 
shire cattle.” 

The supper was a success. Laura by degrees became 
enlightened as to the good fortune that had fallen to their 
share, and as Mrs. Ray recovered her equanimity there 
was no difficulty in so accommodating themselves to Mr. 
Hogeboom that he thought he had rarely met such refined 
and elegant women. 

Kate excused herself for a moment while she ran through 
the flood of moonlight to give the impatient Trask a por- 
tion of their good fare. It quite consoled him for so late 
a detention ; he rarely gave his approval or his time to any- 
thing after nine o’clock, generally leaving the guests of a 
party to walk home. “No use talkin’, tain’t my way — me 
and the critters don’t go in for turnin’ night into day.” 
His supper mollified him — perhaps the “ fair spirit for his 
minister ” had some effect. As Kate walked back to the 
house she did not forget the little cloud clothed with a 
rainbow that had seemed to her so hopeful early in the 
evening. “ How grave James would look at my supersti- 
tion if I told him of my having felt it to be a good omen,” 
she thought. 

It was eleven o’clock before Mr. Hogeboom released the 
impatient Trask, and the “ critters ” received less than their 
usual attention that night, for their master was “ that beat 
out there warn’t no use in livin’.” 

The next day Mr. Hogeboom laid before Mrs. Ray — 
“ the widow of my deceased client’s brother ” — a certified 
copy of the will, and paid into her hands “ such ready 
money as my late client had left.” 

“ It will be necessary for you, madam, to assume the 
garb of mourning, I presume ?” he said. 

“ If you do not particularly request it, I would rather 
not,” she replied. “ I dislike to wear mourning unless my 
feelings require it. In this case I have no personal feeling ; 

10 


146 


JIM THE PARSON, 


I am deeply grateful to my husband’s brother, but one 
does not wear mourning for gratitude.” 

It was Mr. Hogeboom’s turn to bow, for lie had nothing 
to say to this. There was something so above “shams” in 
the bearing of both ladies that he concluded not to refer 
to the custom, in such cases, of grading the expression of 
mourning in an inverse ratio to its feeling. 

Kate earnestly hoped the lawyer would not consider it 
necessary to withdraw the “ ready money ” of his client be- 
cause her aunt refused to become a perambulating pyra- 
mid of crape and bombazine. 

Fortunately, he did not, but, giving her a copy of the will, 
informed her that her life-rent in the estate was four thou- 
sand a year, and the annual allowance for each of the chil- 
dren, during their minority, one thousand. The rest of the 
property was to be left to accumulate under his care un- 
til the youngest child should be of age. If either of the 
elder ones married before that time, special proviso was 
made that the portion might be received on the wedding- 
day. Mrs. Ray was appointed sole guardian of the chil- 
dren, and the “ ready money ” proved to be five thousand 
dollars for immediate expenses. 

A check-book was brought with much ceremony by 
Mr. Hogeboom, and he was prepared to suffer much in 
his efforts to make clear to Mrs. Ray the mysteries of 
payments and deposits, and those kindred subjects which, 
with most women, produce softening of the brain. 

He was greatly relieved at the calm and intelligent com- 
posure with which she received his instructions, and con- 
cluded that her education had been “ regarded with more 
than usual care.” 

The lawyer was not quite so grim as he seemed, and had 
much secret satisfaction in the hospitality with which he was 
entertained, compared with his first frightened reception 
by Mrs. Ray. 


JIM THE PARSON, 


*47 


I regret to say that he even ventured to fancy what his 
bachelor home might be if graced by such a fair being as 
Kate ; and as far as he was able, he relaxed his stiffness 
when speaking to her. Fortunately, Mrs. Ray recog- 
nized these dangerous symptoms, and hastened to speak of 
the approaching marriage of her niece. Mr. Hogeboom 
sighed audibly, and shortly after hearing this melancholy 
end to his imagined romance, left Brighton, promising to 
make all other arrangements by letter. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


KATE GIVES ADVICE AND TAKES OTHER THINGS. 

“Kate, Kate ! ” exclaimed her aunt, on the day after the 
lawyer’s first visit, “ I cannot understand it. I did not 
know that I cared to be rich again. I am ashamed of the 
thousand wants and wishes that this prospect gives me. 
Things I had renounced forever come to me already like 
the very necessities of living. Is it quite impossible to 
conquer self ? Can one never quite forget the luxuries of 
independence ? ” 

u Don’t try to analyze your feelings, dear Aunt Alice. 
There can be no wrong in taking, and taking thankfully, 
and in using whatever is necessary in restoring the old 
habits of your life. Your own education can now be an 
enjoyment to you. You can gratify those beautiful tastes 
that you have so conscientiously crushed. Your children 
can have the benefit of your education, and of your daily 
companionship. They will no longer be in danger, as you 
have so often feared, of thinking that how to make one 
dollar do the duty of two is the chief end of life. What 
a long speech I have made ! But, dear, I so missed a 
mother’s care that I half envied your little ones when 
they gathered around you in your one leisure hour at twi- 
light.” 

“ Oh, Kate ! and I so restless lest I ought not to take 
that hour of leisure ! I wondered why you so insisted 
on it.” 


JIM THE PARSON. 


149 


“ Did I ? I did not know it. But I have thought, and 
I suppose acted unconsciously on the conviction, that a 
mother’s untrammelled interest in her children is a duty to 
them. I mean that there ought to be a time — a children’s 
hour — when they can take the lead in conversation, when 
they can be certain that mother has nothing to do but to 
listen and to sympathize.” 

“Yes, I know, Kate ; when 4 ways and means’ are put 
aside, when even the click of knitting-needles does not 
come between the childish thought and the mother’s heart. 
I can remember climbing on my mother’s lap, feeling that 
there only could I hold her hands and have her attention 
— for my dear mother, you know, was never idle.” 

“ And is not this undivided interest one of Mrs. Mont- 
gomerie's charms ? Her son came in one day exclaiming : 
‘You dear, idle old darling, I do so love to feel that I can 
talk without interfering with anything.’ ” 

“ But, Kate, she is not idle !” 

“ No, indeed ; that very day, after Mr. Montgomerie had 
gone, she was not unoccupied a moment, and when I spoke 
to her about it, she said : ‘ I always make it a duty — as it 
is a pleasure — to give my boy my undivided attention.’” 

“ Kate, you are dreadfully wise for such a young girl. I 
never thought out this subject before, but I see now how 
different my intercourse with my children can be, now that 
I am relieved from daily work.” 

“Yes, indeed ; fancy your lovely walks and drives, and 
how you can make all the beautiful things that you love 
as household words to them.” 

“ I must take back my words of a week ago. Do you re- 
member how you ventured to reprove me, my dear, when 
I said that I regretted not having learned washing and 
ironing instead of languages and literature ?” 

“ I remember ; I told you never to regret any acquisi- 
tion, and that you were not too old to add washing and 


150 


JIM THE PARSON. 


ironing to your other accomplishments,” replied Kate, 
laughing ; “but now I doubt whether your education will 
receive this finishing stroke.” 

“ It most certainly will not I shall bound back to my 
old life with mortifying eagerness ; I feel self-condemned 
a little, even after your wise words.” 

“ Mine may be the fancied ‘wisdom of inexperience/” 
returned Kate. “ I have already lived long enough to 
have discovered how much easier theory is than practice, 
particularly in a woman’s daily life. All one’s best plans 
for a day may be annihilated by a refractory cook, or by 
an unreasonable visitor.” 

“ Yes,” said her aunt. “ I began my married life by map- 
ping out every hour and every duty ; now I can be amused 
when I recall my daily self-reproach at 4 nothing done ’ — at 
the hours, as I then thought, frittered away.” 

“ One’s ideas change, as a view does, from different stand- 
points. Duty is a convertible term. I learned a great deal 
while at Burnside. Mrs. Montgomerie would sometimes 
at breakfast give me her plan for the day, and at night I 
once asked her — for I had watched its non-success — how 
far she had accomplished it.” 

“ Dear old lady ! What did she say ? ” 

“ She said her 4 plan ’ was only to fall back upon in case 
there were no more immediate calls of duty. Her hours 
of reading and study were only to be so used if no one need- 
ed her help — her first duty was always to help those whom 
the Master sent to her, and that she never considered time 
lost when she could either sow seed or care for the 
tiniest growth in the garden of the Lord.” 

“But how could she be sure she was so doing?” asked 
Mrs. Ray. “ Fancy an hour of gossip about dress !” 

“ I don’t think much of that sort of thing enters the 
charmed circle of Burnside, for in view of such danger 
Mrs. Montgomerie keeps the helm of the conversation. 


JIM THE PARSON. 


* 5 * 

It is possible, however; and I know she would in such a 
case sympathize with her visitor, so that the next time she 
would feel that she was coming to a friend, and perhaps 
be surprised to find herself interested in topics of which 
she had never thought before.” 

“ We can always learn from her, Kate, and I shall ask for 
some of her stores of wisdom in my return to my old life.” 

Kate laughed. “ If you ask in that way you will silence 
our friend. She says she has no particular rules, but only 
asks every day for help, and then does whatever her hand 
finds to do, in the best way she can. She once told me 
she learned a great deal from Monckton Milne’s poem on 
the “ Worth of Hours.” Let me repeat it : 

‘Believe not that your inner eye 
Can ever in just measure try 
The worth of hours as they go by. 

‘For every man’s weak self, alas! 

Makes him to see them while they pass 
As through a dim or tinted glass. 

‘ But if with earnest care you would 
Mete out to each its part of good, 

Trust rather to your after-mood. 

‘ Those surely are not fairly spent 
That leave the spirit bowed and bent 
In sad unrest and ill-content. 

‘And more, though free from seeming harm 
You rest from toil of mind or arm, 

Or slow retire from pleasure’s charm. 

‘ If then a painful sense comes on, 

Of something wholly lost and gone, 

Vainly enjoyed or vainly done ; 

‘ Of something from your being’s chain 
Broke off, not to be linked again 
By all mere memory can retain — 


152 


JIM THE PARSON. 


‘ Upon your heart this truth may rise : 

Nothing that altogether dies 
Suffices man’s just destinies. 

* So should we live that every hour 
May die as dies the natural flower, 

A self-revolving thing of power. 

‘That every thought and every deed 
May hold within itself the seed 
Of future good and future need, 

‘ Esteeming sorrow — whose employ 
Is to develop, not destroy — 

Far better than a barren joy/ 

The last four verses are those she oftenest quotes, they 
explain what the poem taught her.” 

“ They are most helpful words, and I will remember 
them in my children’s hour. And now one more word be- 
fore we separate, and it is a Medo-Persian decree — one- 
half of all I have is yours, to have and to hold from this 
day forward.” 

“ Thank you — thank you, most generous of heiresses — 
but I am going to leave you soon, and have no need to 
carry off any plunder.” 

“Soon, Kate! When? Only a week ago you told me 
you had no idea when you would be married.” 

“ I had not then, but I have changed my mind since.” 

“Kate! It must have been to-day. I see it all now ; you 
dear, generous girl ! You would not leave me to my small 
income. Oh, why did you do this ? I had not the slight- 
est idea of it — I would not have permitted it — I ” 

“ Please do not make so much of it. I could not have 
been happy in any other way. It was a delight to me to 
feel that I was able to determine your future. Laura 
would soon have been prepared to take my place as a 


JIM THE PARSON. 


*53 


teacher. She and I have planted good seeds carefully in 
many an hour ; they will come up the strongest kind of 
‘ things of power/ and you know, dear, you would not 
have accepted any other help ? ” 

“ Hardly. And now, when ? ” 

“The seventeenth of July.” 

“My child,” exclaimed Mrs. Ray, “you have nothing 
ready.” 

But Kate was ready, and Mr. Thornton was ready. The 
subject of trousseau she refused to consider. 

“ I can buy clothes when I need them,” she said ; “and 
the idea of spending the precious two weeks with dress- 
makers is preposterous.” 

In this emergency Mrs. Ray consulted with Mrs. 
Henry Montgomerie, and the two ladies were absent for 
several days in the city. It was so fitting for some of the 
abundant money to be spent in the great metropolis that 
no questions were asked. 

Kate declined to send any orders for anything. She had 
all she wanted, and all she needed, and what did a poor 
clergyman’s wife want with finery; so, charging her aunt 
not to buy anything for her, except some plain white crape 
for a wedding gown, Kate followed her usual pursuits. 
Of these, flowers and music always formed a large part. 

One day, during her aunt’s absence, she was standing on 
the piazza, wondering at the marvellous beauty of earth 
and sky and fleecy clouds. Soft perfumes filled the air. 
and all nature seemed ringing with the “ Joy Hymn.” 

“ Joy, thou spark of heavenly brightness ! ” 

sang Kate, hardly recognizing her own bird-like notes amid 
the orchestral tones of rustling leaves and feathered song- 
sters — 

“ Joy, all living things are drinking.” 


*54 


JIM THE PARSON. 


She paused a moment ; then, as the thought of the source 
of all joy filled her heart, she went on : 

“ High above yon azure folds, 

Shines a Father’s star pavilion. 

“ Oh, Beethoven ! ” she exclaimed, “ marvellous high 
priest of Nature’s worship, was it inspiration that suggested 
the hush that sometimes falls on earth while the voices 
hymn the song of prayer ? 

“ Now on bended knee, ye millions, 

Feel ye your Creator near.” 

Kate sang again and again these snatches of Schiller’s 
song, wondering, as she heard her own rich tones, whether 
the music best interpreted the words, or the words the 
music. Once more she began : 

“ Joy, thou spark ” 

“The birds have stopped to listen,’’ said Laura, putting 
her arm around her, noticing the very hush that Kate so 
enjoyed. 

“ Nonsense !” replied her cousin, coming down with a 
rush; “they always stop at dinner-time. Let us go to 
suffer the vagaries of our cook. Cooks, my dear, are one 
of the penalties of luxury. Don’t for an instant hope ever 
again for those delicately browned potatoes that your 
mother’s skill prepared for us.” 

“ Kate, I came to listen to you, not to call you to din- 
ner. Your moods are like Trask’s work ; he said yester- 
day : ‘A streak of lightnin’ can’t get ’round some days 
fast enough to please folks.’ But as you are on earth 
again, dinner is ready.” 

“ I thought so,” laughed Kate, as, bringing down a 


JIM THE PARSON. 


*55 


shower of rose-leaves from the vines on the piazza, they 
entered the cool and shaded dining-room. The children 
had a thousand things to say, to which Kate considering 
it her duty to listen, the vagaries of the cook passed un- 
noticed. 

They were to go to Burnside after dinner ; all the chil- 
dren were invited, so that there was a great deal for the 
little ones to think about. 

a How soon will you be ready, cousin Kate?” asked 
Elbe. 

“ As soon as I can scramble into a fitting gown,” said 
Kate, going upstairs. 

“ Laura ! where is my gray silk ? I am sure it was hang- 
ing in this closet !” 

“ Wear white this warm evening,” said Laura, who knew 
that the missing gown was in the hands of a modiste. So 
Kate thought no more of the subject. Her toilet never 
troubled her, partly because it was impossible for her to 
own anything not in good taste, and partly because she 
was more careful for others than for herself. 

It was a delicious evening. A group of chestnuts on the 
Burnside lawn gave a heavy shadow, and in its coolness 
John served the iced tea and fragrant strawberries. There 
were seats and tables under the old trees, and tea there in 
summer was another of the Greek isle entertainments. 

Mr. Henry Montgomerie and his children had preceded 
the party who came from the cottage under the escort of 
Mr. Thornton. 

The children rushed wildly to their play-house on the 
little island in the river, where Charlotte took charge of 
them, leaving “ our family,” as the hostess called the elder 
ones to their quiet enjoyment. 

It was one of those intensely hot evenings when but a 
slight breeze stirred the leaves and a slumberous haze 


i 5 6 


JIM THE PARSON. 


rested on the river. An evening too warm for the usual 
animated conversation ; but, with chairs placed wherever 
they could catch a breath of air, they enjoyed one of those 
rare periods of social intercourse when thoughts need few 
words to give them expression, but seem to be known and 
answered by inspiration. No guiding thread wove its line 
of direction through the conversation — each one ventured 
the fancy of the moment, as sure of a safe landing as if it 
had a spirit-guided lamp. 

We have all enjoyed somewhere such intercourse, when 
all was harmony and sweet accord, perhaps in our past — 
a memory ; perhaps in our future — a hope. 

The twilight lingered long ; Kate and Mr. Thornton 
wandered olf ; the late moon was rising, when Mrs. Mont- 
gomerie, calling the little ones, proposed finishing the 
evening on the piazzas. 

May went inside to sing for the children, while Mrs. 
Montgomerie continued her conversation with her son. 
“ Those girls are quite a study of hearts,” she said ; “ May 
so unselfishly happy in her brother’s prospects, and Kate 
so calm and yet so joyous. I never know with what to 
compare her. A sunbeam is too trite and too steady in its 
shining.” 

“ How would a summer shower do?” replied her son, 
laughing at his mother’s dilemma ; “you can add the rain- 
bow that follows it.” 

“Your comparisons are no better than mine — no one 
tiling alone is like Kate,” she said ; “but May is all that 
her brother is not ; she completes what is wanting in him 
— that problem is easier. They are coming — Kate gleam- 
ing in the moonlight like Una in the ‘ shady place.’ ” 

“May,” she said, “will you come with us and walk back 
with James? Mr. Montgomerie promised to drive the 
children home. We have had a lovely evening, dear,” and 
she kissed her old friend in her loving way. 


JIM THE PARSON . 


157 


Polly was roused, and sleepily besought them to go home 
and be quiet, concluding her advice with, “ Polly, you’re a 
jolly ole dolly, a jolly ole doll — joll — doll — ole dolly, jolly 
dolly,” and then she was asleep again. 

On the walk, Mr. Thornton experienced one of his be- 
wilderments. Kate had been gentle, calm, lovely, and re- 
sponsive ; now the mood was over, and there was no limit 
to the merry badinage of the two girls. 

“ ‘ By the pricking of my thumbs,’ ” laughed May, “ I 
know you will perpetrate a joke some day, Jim.” 

They had just explained one to him. 

“ Impossible,” he replied ; “and I cannot imagine what 
your thumbs know about it. However, if it is suggested, 
I will say it.” 

“ It would be a poor joke if you had to go meandering 
around after it. It must be inspiration, Jim — inspira- 
tion ! ” 

“ I doubt if I will ever be happier than I am in listening 
to you and Kate ; but what, in this contemplative evening, 
induces you both to talk as you do, I cannot imagine.” 

“We are supplementing the contemplative evening,” re- 
plied May ; but the Reverend James was not enlightened 
by this. The cottage was reached, and Kate left standing 
on her vine-draped porch. 

The warm days continued, and Kate did not look for 
her missing gown, so she was very naturally surprised at 
the gift from Mrs. Ray of an entire trousseau. I wish to 
represent Kate as above the wild enthusiasm shown on the 
dress question ; but truth obliges me to state that the incon- 
sistencies of her character were as evident here as in other 
points. She expressed her delight in a choice selection of 
those extreme exclamations of admiration which dress 
alone inspires. You maybe sorry, but so it was. 

There are those who would have deferred the marriage, 
rather than omit the preparations ; so Kate may be par- 


158 JIM THE PARSON, \ 

doned, when we consider the importance of the matter is 
so great that young girls have married for the sake of the 
trousseau, accepting the husband as a key to a chest. 

Mrs. Ray’s gift was but the beginning of a torrent of ar- 
ticles of possible or impossible value, to testify the love 
of the people for their pastor. Among the unique selec- 
tions was a tame crow from a crippled child, white mice 
from a lame boy, a pair of rabbits, a Newfoundland dog, a 
peacock from a farmer’s wife, and various articles of fur- 
niture from those who made them. 

One afternoon Kate was at the future parsonage consult- 
ing with May, when the hardware wagon drove up, adding 
a snow-shovel and garden-rake to all the other things. 

The boy who brought them dragged a mouse-trap from 
his pocket, presenting it with much shyness. “’Tain’t 
much, you know, but mother says they’re dreadful handy 
to have in the house.” 

Kate thanked him with a becoming composure, rather 
hard to retain during May’s cough. 

“ May, I entreat ! ” exclaimed she ; “ do not make it 
harder for me ; our presents are so remarkable, I cannot 
keep my face straight.” 

“The mouse-trap is just what we want,” she returned; 
“ we can experiment on the crow and white mice ; it will 
save poison. Here is Job Beers with something else.” 

“ Please, sir,” said Job, “ I’d like to give you sumfin’, an’ 
I hain’t nothin’ but my billigut.” 

“ Your — what, my boy ?” asked Mr. Thornton. 

“My billigut ; he is real good in a sled. I know you’d be 
kind to him and two red fists were screwed into two 
equally red eyes. 

“ My dear boy, perhaps you had better not part with 
your — your — what is it ?” 

“He ain’t no it — he’s a he” nearly sobbed the boy. 

“ He’s a real beauty, too.” 


JIM THE PARSON. 


159 


“ Don’t cry ; I will be very kind to him — but is he a 
dog?” 

“No — a billigut! Didn’t you never see one? There’s 
billiguts, an’ there’s nanniguts. Nanniguts gives milk, 
an’ billiguts don’t.” 

May’s cough recommenced, but Mr. Thornton rose to 
the occasion. 

“Yes, yes ; I understand. I am very much obliged. It 
is so good in you to make a sacrifice for me. Now, sup- 
pose you keep him for me ; it will be a great favor. Then 
when I want to use him in a sled you can drive him for 
me — will you not ?” 

“ I reckon ! ” said the delighted boy. 

“ I will have to trust you to buy the food for him, and 
will pay you for keeping him ; here is a dollar ; you must 
keep an account of how you spend it.” 

A happier boy than Billigut’s former master could not 
be imagined. It had been a hard struggle for him to give 
up his only pet ; but Mr. Thornton had been very kind to 
him through a long illness, and the boy wanted to show 
his gratitude. This happy turn of affairs was a great puz- 
zle to him as he thought it over. 

“ I gived him tew him, an’ he tuk him ; an’ I’se got him, 
an’ he’s got him ; I’m to keep him, an’ he’s ter have him — 
it beats all natur’ ! He’s to pay the feedin’, so there won’t 
be no more blowin’ ’bout that. I won’t take no money 
for keepin’ of him ; that ’ud be meaner than pussely. It’s 
a kind of double-fisted, double-barrelled bargin ! I don’t 
see it right clear ; it’s jest like the parsin — when he 
touches a thing, it’s all right.” 

As he disappeared, May explained to Kate, who had no 
idea what sort of an animal was under discussion. “A 
goat, my dear ; I knew ‘ billigut ’ in a minute ; it took me 
back to my early experiences on Third Avenue. Both a 
billigut and a nannigut resided in a yard in that distin- 


i6o 


JIM THE PARSON. 


guished locality. I had to let Jim find out for himself ; 
his expression was delicious.” 

“ It was a good thought to make the boy keep it ; per- 
haps we can dispose of the crow and the mice in the same 
way — we certainly have too many animals.” 

“ Rather,” said May, dryly. “ And before any one sac- 
rifices some pet rattlesnake or sea-serpent on this matri- 
monial altar, you had better go for your walk.” 

Even Mr. Thornton’s gravity succumbed to the neces- 
sities of the situation, and their walk was a merry one. 
Kate pictured their making parochial visits in Job’s sled, 
with their two-horned steed, and had a thousand comical 
fancies for the use of the other gifts. It was impossible 
that afternoon to make any arrangements for the cere- 
mony ; Kate was not in the mood. Fortunately, there 
were two days yet ; and on one of them the “ conspirators,” 
as May called all concerned, planned the whole affair so 
that there could by no possibility be any mistake. 

“You know, Jim, it would be dreadful if you married 
the wrong person, or if Kate endowed you with her 
worldly goods ; do be patient while we instruct you.” So 
the chief actors listened to all directions — and went off for 
a final walk, forgetting they had heard them. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


** TILL DEATH US DO PART.” 

Of course, in a story like this — a simple detail of every- 
day life — the wedding-day was clear as crystal. It was just 
warm enough, and just cool enough. Of course, the birds, 
Kate’s nearest relatives, were wild about it all ; they flew 
around in the merriest way, resuming the whirlwind of 
song which they had dropped, as usual, after the fireworks 
of Independence Day. It all began over again, and the 
“ old, old story ” was sung from “ five o’clock in the morn- 
ing ” until the last stroke of the wedding-peal died away. 
Of course, the church was hung with flowers and delicate 
perfume, till “ Araby the Blest” could have been no more 
fragrant. 

As for Kate, she passed the morning in her room, sitting 
by the open window, thinking of past and future, some- 
times singing in a low voice to herself. When the clock 
chimed eleven she began her toilet. 

The crape gown was put on in a half-revery, but the 
wonderful reflections of the mirror on the subject recalled 
her to herself. 

Aunt Alice appeared at the right moment to arrange the 
cloud of tulle, which, falling around her like a dream, gave 
the requisite air of mysticism to the pure and beautiful 
costume. 

And then Mrs. Ray took her farewell. “ My darling, 
my darling ! ” she exclaimed — “my home angel ! Kate of 
ii 


JIM THE PARSON. 


162 

my consolation ! what you have been, and what my life 
must be without you, no words can tell. May every bless- 
ing be upon you !” Without waiting for reply, she hast- 
ened away, and there was no more time for thought, as the 
carriage drove up, and Kate, calm, fair, exceeding lovely, 
met Mr. Thornton in the hall. The effects of crape and 
tulle were unknown to him ; he started as if he had seen a 
vision. She held out her hand ; its touch restored his senses, 
and the answer to one whispered question made all real 
again. But from that moment he kept his eyes upon her 
with the unconscious fear that in some way she would escape 
him. He told her afterward that he could not overcome 
the feeling until she was in her travelling dress by his side. 

The church was crowded to its utmost capacity, hardly 
a pathway possible up the aisle ; but at last they stood 
before the altar, and in a few solemn words were made 
“ man and wife.” 

Then the organ pealed out in joyous music, and the 
pastor and his bride turned to the people and stood while 
all present came to shake hands and offer congratulations. 

When this was over, they walked down to the carriage, 
where stood “ billigut ” and his master, who was raised to 
a region of bliss by Kate’s stopping to pat the goat with 
her daintily gloved hand. 

u I know’d she would,” exclaimed the boy. “Ain’t she 
a stunner ? It’s his’n, ” he explained ; “ hers and his’n. I 
keeps him for ’em.” 

They drove to the cottage, where was a family collation, 
over which, with all their efforts, there hung a shadow ; for 
although Kate was to live among them, each one felt they 
had resigned something that they could never have again. 

The travelling suit took the place of the wedding gown, 
farewells were said, and then James and Kate began their 
new life. 

“ Kate,” said her husband, when they were seated in the 


JIM THE PARSON . 163 

cars, “do you know that you have never asked me where 
we are going for our journey ?” 

“ I am trusting you to plan my future,” she replied, 
turning from the window as she spoke. 

“ Thank you, my precious Kate ; and I have ventured to 
plan one month of it. But now it is time for you to de- 
cide for or against.” 

“Tell me, then, and I will bring my deepest philosophy 
to the consideration of the subject,” she replied, looking 
brightly up. 

“ Remember, if in the faintest possible way you feel that 
you do not like it, it is perfectly easy to change the entire 
programme. I propose first to go to New York, and there 
to show you again the church where little May became 
the arbiter of our fortunes. Then to-morrow afternoon, 
when it is cool and pleasant, to go on to Philadelphia. I 
have engaged the rooms that we occupied when our 
grandfather took May and her invalid brother to his home. 
We will stay there till the next afternoon, and then go on 

to D . Richard will meet us at the station, and Sarah 

will welcome us at the parsonage. It is all ready for you, 
my own wife — even tea is ordered.” 

“ Oh, dear James ! nothing could be lovelier ; I have long 
wanted to go with you over all those scenes. But how is 
it that the parsonage is unoccupied ? ” 

“ This has been my first and only extravagance. I have 
kept it exactly as we left it, Sarah and Richard in charge, 
only that I might take my bride— my precious wife — there 
for her honeymoon. If you had hesitated for a moment, 
you would never have known this. May is bound to in- 
violable secrecy.” 

“It is fortunate that I am perfectly delighted, else you 
would have had to keep a secret from your wife, and May 
would have lived a guilty accomplice,” returned Kate, 
laughing. 


1 64 


JIM THE PARSON, 


“ My only fear is that the associations there will be 
saddened by the memory of our grandparents ; but, Kate, 
we do not need gayety for happiness, and I so long to 
show you our home.” 

An earnest pressure of his hand answered this, and Mr. 
Thornton knew that Kate was content. 

The plan was carried out ; on the evening of the third 
day they reached D . 

Richard stood on the platform, looking older than when 
he lifted “the boy” into the carriage ; but he was strong 
and vigorous, and shook hands so heartily, and greeted 
“Miss Kate” so warmly, that she seemed to have met an 
old friend. 

The sun was touching the topmost ivy on the old tower 
when they stopped at the gate, the birds had ceased their 
evening song, but the little parsonage looked out as cheer- 
fully as ever from under its heavy brows of leaves. The 
windows were all open, and a glimpse of a tea-table was 
seen through them, giving the little touch of domesticity 
that comes like a prophecy of happiness into the most ro- 
mantic of bridal tours. 

Sarah was a portly dame now, and with her gray hair 
and carefully arranged cap, stood in the door-way, a little 
uncertain how to receive “Master Jeems’s wife.” Kate, 
waiting for no ceremony, ran to her. 

“ Oh, Sarah, you are no stranger to me. I am so glad 
to see you.” 

Conquered at once, she exclaimed : 

“ Welcome, Miss Kate ; surely, Master Jeems’s wife is a 
lovely sight for our old eyes. We’ve waited a long while 
for this joyful day.” 

The Reverend James, in his turn, received a warm greet- 
ing ; and then, while he and Richard were occupied with 
the luggage, Sarah showed Kate to the old guest-chamber, 
so long ago prepared for her husband, and if domestic 


JIM THE PARSON. 165 

duties had not called her below, would have given a com- 
plete history of those days. 

Kate was quite willing to be a few moments alone, and 
stood at the window in glad thought until her luggage 
came up and she could hear her husband’s words of wel- 
come to his old home. Then they went down to tea. This 
was served in Sarah’s best fashion, and, according to ex- 
press directions, in the dining-room, for in the study where 
of old they gathered in the evening stood the little table 
with the open Bible, the music-book, and the organ, where 
May had played the evening hymn, and the knitting on 
the sofa, where the “vanished hand ” had laid it. 

“I want you to see the dear old room as they left it, 
Kate,” said her husband, opening the door they kept 
up their usual habits till the end. For a year May played 
the hymn at prayer-time, though there were hours when 
grandfather would dream out his thoughts in lovely har- 
monies on his beloved organ. I have often wished for a 
picture of the beautiful old man as he sat there in rapt en- 
joyment of his own creations. Here are portraits of both 
my grandparents ; the eyes are sightless in this one, and 
the lids are drooped as if she were looking at her work ; 
and in this,” turning to the other, “ the eyes have that 
far-off expression so peculiar to my grandfather. I used 
to fancy, when a boy, that he was gazing into heaven, 
and, now that I am a man, I feel the boyish thought was 
true.” 

“ I cannot bear to think of ever moving anything in 
the room,” said Kate, with tears in her eyes. 

“ Now that you have seen it all, Kate, my dream is ful- 
filled, and I can let it go back into daily life. I have one 
more memento to show you — we have just light enough. 
Come to the church-yard — it is not far off, and a path 
leads from the garden to it — I want you to see where we 
have laid them.” 


JIM THE PARSON. 


1 66 

The fading light seemed to linger a moment on the pure 
white stone that formed a head-stone for the two graves, 
and under the names and dates Kate read : 

“ Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy-laden, 
and I will give you rest.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 


THE FIRST QUARTER OF THE HONEYMOON. 

When Kate went down to the study the next morning, 
where she had been summoned for prayers, the organ was 
closed, the book of music restored to its place, the knitting 
laid in a work-basket on the sofa. One only relic was left 
untouched — the little table with its open Bible had not 
been removed, and beside it her husband was standing. 

“I fear I have kept you waiting for me,” said she, enter- 
ing in haste. 

“No, Kate, my darling, you could not, fori am never 
ready till you come — you know, one cannot wait until after 
he is ready,” and the peculiarly tender tone was in itself a 
caress. 

At that moment Sarah and Richard came in with tear- 
dimmed eyes, so that Kate could only reply by a look. 
Little Elbe once said, “ Cousin Kate talks with her eyes,” 
and it may be this look was all that was necessary. 

Her husband turned to the faithful old couple. “ I can- 
not have tears,” he said ; “ we have no need to mourn for 
those who are enjoying bliss and glory beyond our high- 
est imaginations. Let us rather learn from them the les- 
son, ‘ Be ye also ready/ ” 

“That’s it, Master Jeems,” returned Richard; “you’re 
all right, but it’s such a little while since we were all so 
happy together here.” 

“ We will be happier there," said Mr. Thornton. 

“ May I not open the organ once more and play the 


1 68 


JIM THE PARSON. 


morning hymn — I am sure you know it,” said Kate, turn- 
ing to the old couple. 

“That we do, Miss Kate — we’ll be right glad to sing 
again,” they replied. 

Mr. Thornton raised the cover, with a whispered 
“ Thanks, sweet wife,” and took his place beside her. 

Kate’s marvellous musical genius made a drama of what- 
ever she played. She delighted in the organ ; her sympa- 
thy with it, her power over what to a master seems its 
soul, brought out its response in loveliest tones. The 
old harmonies of Tallis seemed alive with song, even be- 
fore her voice raised the grand soul-call. 


“ Awake, my soul, and with the sun 
Thy daily course of duty run. 

Shake off dull sloth, and early rise, 
To pay thy morning sacrifice. 

“ Wake ! and lift up thyself, my heart, 
And with the angels bear thy part. 
Who all night long unwearied sing, 
Glory to thee, eternal King.” 


Verse after verse they sang, all strangely impressed with 
the feeling that the spirits of those who had gone were 
uniting with them. So intense was this impression, that 
as they ceased singing Kate lingered a moment on the last 
strain, and then, changing the key without abruptness, 
sung out their thoughts in the unrivalled solo : 

“Therefore, with angels and archangels, and with all 
the company of heaven, we laud and magnify Thy holy 
name.” 

Mr. Thornton looked at her as if one of the angel-choir 
had brought down a “ cloud of glory from heaven which 
was her home,” and could scarcely control his emotions, 
or his voice, to read the chapter he had chosen for the day. 


JIM THE PARSON. \ 


169 


The one selected was the last one read by his grandfather. 
While the old man was reading, his voice had failed, and 
May, w r ho was always beside him, answered his appealing 
look, and took up the words : “ Knowing that He which 
raised up the Lord Jesus shall raise up us also by Jesus, 
and shall present us with you.” As May went on, in 
that wonderful chapter, the far-reaching eyes of the old 
Christian assumed a satisfied look, as if he had gained a 
glimpse of the Glory Land. 

After the last verse — “ While we look not at the things 
which are seen, but at the things which are not seen : for 
the things which are seen are temporal ; but the things 
which are not seen are eternal,” May heard a whispered 
“Amen.” The eyes were fixed on the vision beyond, but 
he had spoken his last word. 

She stood with her arm around him ; he fell against her, 
and was carried to his room by his faithful servants, while 
May helped the sightless wife to an arm-chair by his side. 

In a few days both had seen “ the King in His beauty.” 

The eyes were opened, the tongue was loosed. 

It was no wonder that Mr. Thornton’s voice trembled as 
he read the sacred words, and that Sarah and Richard wept 
when they again heard them. 

And yet it was not sorrow ; it became even rejoicing, in 
the prayer that followed the chapter, for they were carried 
beyond this life to the “ exceeding and eternal weight of 
glory,” and grief was ingratitude to Him who had fulfilled 
His promises to His servants. 

When they were alone, it was for a while impossible for 
either the husband or wife to speak. Mr. Thornton re- 
covered himself first. “ I did not intend this, my own bright 
Kate ; it was your heavenly music that took me so near to 
them. I nearly lost my self-control. But we will not regret 
what has thus brought together the end with the beginning 
of our lives, for we have so entirely united in a renewed 


170 


JIM THE PARSON. 


self-consecration that this room will seem sacred to us now. 
We have the same Lord abiding with us, and have no need 
for grief while he is present. Come, our breakfast waits ; 
our little dining-room is cool and pleasant — the vines shade 
the windows, and the birds will sing for us.” 

“ It is a perfect dream of bliss,” said Kate, in a low voice, 
and then they stood a moment at the table. Mr. Thornton 
omitted the usual formula ; “ Let us have Thy blessing, as 
we rejoice evermore, and in everything give thanks,” were 
his words. 

“ To-day must be all yours, Kate. What shall we do 
after breakfast ? ’* 

“ My object to-day,” she returned, smiling, “ is what 
May’s was on her first day. It is investigation . I want to 
see all the rooms, the church, the birds, the chickens, and 
Rover’s grave.” 

And so, like two happy children, they wandered from 
room to room, from place to place. It all seemed famil- 
iar. May’s little room was just as she had left it, and the 
swallows were twinkling their shadows on the wall as on 
her first morning. The chickens were as much exercised 
at the approach of the strangers as if they were watching 
from their coops May’s first coming with their breakfast. 
The rooster screamed his warning to his wives, and “ Ka- 
rah, Ka-rah-ah,” was shrieked as his family followed him, 
with a rush, to a place of safety. 

“What idiotic chickens!” laughed Kate they seem 
to think we are wild beasts. May told me how they 
acted.” 

“ Remarkable instance of hereditary peculiarities,” re- 
turned the Reverend James. “ These must be the great- 
great-great-grandchildren of May’s chickens.” 

“I’ve been a-doin’ up Rover’s grave, Master Jeems,” 
said Richard. 

They found it carefully turfed, and on a little board 


JIM THE PARSON. 


171 

which May had put up for a “ head-stone ” with some diffi- 
culty they deciphered the familiar words : 


* ‘Green be the turf above thee, 

Friend of my early days ; 

None knew thee, but to love thee, 

None named thee, but to praise. ,, 

44 If you had known Rover you would not have thought 
it desecration to apply those lovely words to him, ,, said Mr. 
Thornton, as Kate was silent. 

44 It startled me a little/' she replied ; 44 but, after all, 
nothing is too good for a good dog.” 

They walked beside the river-bank after this, under the 
shade of the great trees that overhung it, and then on their 
return went into the old church. 

“Here is May’s pulpit — 4 the tub ’ — and, oh, dear James, 
let me see the tower.” 

“No, Kate — forgive me for the word ; it is just noon — 
high noon ; wait till the shadows of evening come. I have 
ordered an early dinner, for I must take you a long, long 
drive — oh, such a drive ! among the hills and valleys. The 
tower will stand till we return.” 

At this moment Sarah called them, and the shaded little 
room was a delightful relief to the outside light and heat. 

The wealth of Richard’s garden was on the table to 
do honor to 44 Master Jeems and Miss Kate,” and as Kate 
expressed her appreciation, Sarah blandly remarked : 

44 There ain’t no gardens in Yankee-land to beat our’n in 
Pennsylvany. Richard was up north one time, and he 
said it made his heart ache to see the watery vegetables 
folks eat ; and the butter was nothin’ more nor less than 
a disgrace.” 

44 Oh, Sarah, not quite so bad as that,” returned Kate. 
44 My garden has not your varieties, but everything is good. 


172 JIM THE PARSON. 

I will yield the palm to your butter ; I never saw anything 
like it.” 

“I was brought up on Sarah’s bread and butter,” hum- 
bly said her husband. “The result is before you.” 

“ Proved! ” returned Kate ; “and yet we had butter once 
4 worthy of our own dairy,’ ” imitating Mr. Hogeboom. 

“ Don’t remind me of him. I was vexed at his audacity, 
and yet, the pained look with which he regarded me went 
to what was left of my heart.” 

James and Kate were hardly responsible beings then, 
and it is unjust to their present dignity to repeat the non- 
sense which they thought was conversation. There were 
faint plunges at jokes on Mr. Thornton’s part, which Kate 
intensely enjoyed, and which — traitor that she was — she 
remembered for May’s edification. 

Even yet they recall the first days at the parsonage, and 
Kate says her husband would have written their history 
but that he had no white ink. 

As the trees lengthened their shadows, and the old 
tower stretched itself on the ground far toward the south- 
east, they drove away among the hills and valleys of a 
locality unrivalled in its beauty. Amid the wondrous 
combinations of shade and golden light, where the moun- 
tains were crowned with glory and the valleys were rest- 
ing in their shadow ; where little streams were brookling 
over the rocks and stones, and tinkling their sweet music ; 
where the bravery and dash of water-falls gave life to the 
stillness of their homes ; where the cattle upon the thou- 
sand hills rendered their praise in their acceptance of the 
gifts of the Lord — there were their souls filled with beauty. 

Kate’s sweet comment was, “ It is as if a Divine voice 
called to the earth, 4 Show forth the beauty that I have 
created,’ and all nature said 4 Amen* and praised the 
Lord.” 


CHAPTER XX. 


THE OLD TOWER. 

Sunday was a day of rare enjoyment to Kate, for her 
husband preached in the old church. 

His text was the last verse read by his grandfather on 
the evening that his voice failed. 

“ Knowing that He which raised up the Lord Jesus 
shall raise up us also by Jesus, and shall present us with 
you.” 

He succeeded in infusing such bright rays of hope in 
all his words that, although the sermon was solemn, and 
many wept at the references to their old pastor, there was 
no sadness left on their minds. Life was brighter to the 
hearers as they were impressed with the sure promise of 
that which would in its glory so utterly annihilate the 
shadows of this world, and the looking “ onward,” as their 
thoughts were borne upward on the wings of faith, 
seemed a “ substance of things hoped for,” “an evidence 
of things not'Seen.” 

There was no second service during the months of July 
and August, and as the sun sunk low in the horizon Mr. 
Thornton and Kate mounted the tower, and passed their 
twilight and their evening there. 

After enjoying the on-coming coolness, so grateful after 
the day’s heat, Kate said : “ I often think we make a great 
mistake in not using our roofs more than we do. It used 
to be so delightful in Europe to pass the evenings on those 


- 174 


JIM THE PARSON. 


high terraces, and in Cairo we always sought the top of 
the house when the sun was gone.” 

“ I suppose the greater height of our houses is one 
reason that we do not use them ; and then, our warm season 
is comparatively so short, we hardly need the refreshment ; 
but if we did, we should often see atmospheric changes 
that we would greatly enjoy, and perhaps might better 
understand some of the Bible imagery. I remember 
reading an account that a missionary somewhere in 
the east — I think in Cairo — gave, of having gone to the 
house-top one morning before sunrise. In one corner on 
the roof he saw a heap of broken crockery and old water- 
pots, such as are filled and put on the roof to cool during 
the night. Some of the family slept near them, but had 
gone down into the house ; suddenly, as the sun appeared, 
a flock of doves flew from the shelter of the crockery, 
their wings glistening like silver as they rose in the morn- 
ing light, and as the sunbeams touched them, turning 
golden in its rays. He exclaimed at once : i Though ye 
have lain among the pots, yet shall ye be as the wings of a 
dove covered with silver, and her feathers with yellowgold.’” 

“ That is a perfect explanation,” replied Kate. “ I never 
before understood that verse. I may comprehend the 
psalms yet, 9 she added. 

“ Let me try to help you in all troubles, Kate ; we will 
talk over the psalms some time, but to-day I want to ask 
a more personal question. May I not now know more of 
your religious life ? Whenever I have tried to ask you, you 
have seemed so pained at the request that I dared not 
press it. It will bring us nearer to each other, my precious 
wife, to talk of our heart’s experiences.” 

“ Mine have been so different from yours, dear, that I 
felt as if I could hardly explain them. Did you not tell 
me that you have no recollection of the time when you 
were not a Christian ? ” 


JIM THE PARSON, 


175 


“ I think I hardly worded it in that way, did I, Kate ? 
Perhaps I did not fully explain my memory of early feel- 
ings. My first thoughts of God recognized Him as my 
father, watching over me and caring for me. I had a con- 
sciousness of feeling something of the gratitude and love 
that I would to an earthly father. I tried, in my ignorant 
way, to approve myself to Him. Afterward the tidings 
came to me of a Saviour, and of a Saviour’s love. I learned 
it very simply as my mother read to us of Him in the Gos- 
pels. I never had heard of doubts, and would as soon 
have questioned my mother’s veracity as the truth of the 
Bible, so that I accepted the story as the writers told it. 
It came to me in its fulness. The Lord was born that He 
might die ; He died that we might live ; and like as He 
rose again, so would we rise. He conquered sin, and paid 
its penalty — the Victor and the Sacrifice. I believed it all, 
simply and thoroughly — I have never doubted. What I 
could not understand, I thought was my own ignorance. 
It never troubled me. I had very little opportunity to 
hear explanations, for my mother had some pride about 
our clothes, and her discouragement sufficed to keep me 
from church, though I always expected to go ‘soon/ 
All I could do was to read the story over and over again. 
I can remember how my difficulties vanished one by one 
— how one part threw light on another. My faith grew 
very strong ; it was childlike in that very strength. Who 
can destroy a child’s faith in its mother’s love ? When I 
had the privilege of my grandfather’s teachings, they fell 
on a soil prepared by the Spirit. My religious life has 
been all peace and joy. When I hear the trials of others, I 
am thankful for the ‘ still hours ’ of communion that I have 
always had with my Lord — for my daily life of trust in 
Him. Now, my darling, am not I entitled to know by what 
road you came to this knowledge and faith?” 

Kate replied : “ There is not much to tell, and I mean 


176 


JIM THE PARSON. 


that you shall know all my thoughts, but However, 

I will try. You know that I was not brought up what is 
called ‘religiously on the contrary, I constantly heard the 
very foundations of faith questioned, and yet I never lost a 
desire to be a Christian. I had no idea how to accomplish 
it, for if I went to church nothing interested me but the 
music ; if I read the Bible, it all seemed to me as ‘ idle 
tales/ Still, the weight of dissatisfaction pressed upon 
my heart, the want of a faith was a weariness to my soul. 
Someone said one day to my father : ‘ If religion is not 
in the Bible, where are we to look for it ? That it exists 
as a governing principle in the hearts of thousands of be- 
ings, we cannot deny. Where do they get it ? They all give 
the same answer, and tell us it is in the Bible. Some day I 
mean to read that book — there is some mystery about it/ 
My father replied : ‘ I have often thought I would look the 
subject up ; it seems cowardly to condemn it in ignorance/ 
“ These words from those who were considered unbeliev- 
ers impressed me. I determined to find out this mystery 
of the Bible. I began at the beginning ; the Creation, and 
all of Genesis, interested me. I soon found the promise 
of a Saviour to a sinning people, and I may say here that 
I never lost that ray of light — it was continually shining 
like a thread of gold interwoven in the whole fabric of the 
history. I was fascinated with the character of Moses — 
his utter self-abnegation, his earnest teachings ; then, the 
multitude of sacrifices amazed me. I soon found out that 
they all pointed to Christ, and in their immense number I 
learned that they typified the all-covering power of His sac- 
rifice. I was interested, but my heart was not touched ; I 
wearied of the wars, and of the historical books. The in- 
consistencies of David and Solomon puzzled me, but I 
plodded through, never losing the line of light. In a gen- 
eral way I discovered that the nearer the nation of Israel 
kept to their ceremonies and their worship, the greater 


JIM THE PARSON. 


177 


were their blessings, and that when they turned to idolatry 
everything* went wrong with them. The psalms and poet- 
ical books I omitted ; the Prophets I read ; but I seemed to 
want some solid foundation, and would have omitted all 
parts of these prophecies except the historical chapters if 
I had not found such constant promises of Christ’s coming. 
When I finished the Old Testament, I asked myself what 
I had gained, and in some way I had great satisfaction in 
the deep impression of the promise of the Saviour — one 
who would fulfil what I afterward learned to call ‘types,’ 
as well as the direct promises, or, I suppose I should say, 
prophecies.” 

“A type,” said Mr. Thornton, “is an acted or pictured 
promise ; a prophecy is also a promise. Your account is 
deeply interesting to me, and every experience is a help. 
Go on, dear Kate.” 

“ Here I was assailed by doubts, such as I think do not 
come to those who have an early religious education. 
Many never know how they gained their first faith : I felt 
that I had none — I was not sure of anything.” 

“ Did you not believe in the Bible as a revelation from 
God ? ” 

“ Not thoroughly ; I believed in it as a history, wonder- 
fully preserved by its guardians the Jews, and if I defined 
my wish, it was to test it by itself. If I found it consist- 
ent, I expected to believe in it as a revelation. At this 
point I analyzed my doubts. I took them one by one, 
measured their height and depth, rejected what I consid- 
ered unworthy of me, and then began to consider those 
that seemed important. I read and studied — I was afraid 
to pray ; but help came, and I was enabled to combat and 
conquer some of my greatest difficulties. When one was 
disposed of, I treated it in the most business-like manner — 
I refused positively to listen to it again. I had judged it 
and sentenced it.” 


12 


i 7 8 


JIM THE PARSON \ 


“You certainly had a most militant spirit about it all, I 
never heard of a faith fought for in this way before, and 
I cannot thank you enough for telling me. Stop, if you 
are tired, Kate.” 

“ I am not tired ; it seems like a dream to go back to it 
all. I used to feel that I was climbing the hill 4 difficulty,’ 
and fancied I passed mile-stones that marked my advance. 
All this time I had not studied the New Testament. I 
feared to begin it. I felt it was my last hope. If it failed, 
I expected only despair, and I was afraid of the test. At 
last I was ready to read it as a book that professed to be 
a gospel. I could not even then feel sure of it as a reve- 
lation from Heaven. I read with a new intelligence and 
with a new interest. On analyzing these feelings about it, 
I found that I was looking for the fulfilment of the cen- 
turies of hope the history of which I had learned in the 
Old Testament. This I found. I saw the God-King — the 
star and the sceptre of Balaam’s prophecy, the God-Man, 
the virgin-born of Isaiah’s. I believed in Him, and said, 
i Thou Lord and thou God!’ And thus I followed Him 
afar off. He was not mine — He had not spoken to my 
soul,” and Kate paused and shivered as she recalled those 
days of disappointed hope. 

“ In ail this struggle, Kate, you were gaining strength. 
Had you not begun to pray before this period ?” 

“ Yes, I began when I read how our Lord conquered the 
tempter in the wilderness. I trusted him as a power 
after that.” 

“ Kate, you are weary ; draw your shawl closer, my 
child ; rest before you tell me more. When you studied 
the temptation did you notice its likeness to that of Eve ? 
She was tempted through the flesh, through the eyes, and 
through intellectual pride. Our Lord, four thousand 
years after, was tempted by the same evil spirit — first 
through the needs of the flesh in His hunger ; then He was 


JIM THE PARSON. 


179 


made to see the glory of the world, and the tempter offered 
to resign his reign over it ; and again He was tempted to 
prove Himself superior to the laws of nature by casting 
Himself from a height, and in His safety proclaiming Him- 
self God.” 

“ I had never thought of that. Oh, James, how much 
you have to tell me and to teach me — life will be too short 
for all.” 

“ Eternity will be ours, when we will learn together. 
Now, will you go on, my own dear wife ?” 

“ I thought my experiment had failed ; then I remem- 
bered the darkness and the doubts in which I had begun 
my search for truth, and gained some comfort in the con- 
sciousness that I had, as it were, reached the light, although 
it had not penetrated my soul. I rejoiced intellectually in 
the completion of the record. In the accurate fulfilment 
by the New Testament of all the requirements of the Old. 
It was like solving a mathematical problem — I had found a 
solution of types, prophecies, and promises. Why, I asked, 
do I not feel satisfied with my work ? I had much self- 
gratulatio'n on it. That / had done it, that / had perse- 
vered, that / ought to be rewarded for my work, was my 
feeling, /had fought, / had conquered. Then I asked, 
Where is my joy and peace in believing ? Alas! I had noth- 
ing that Christians enjoyed, and so I reasoned I could not 
be a Christian. I tested my faith. Did I believe in the 
Creator of heaven and earth having taken the form of a 
man, and having died for the sins of the world ? Did I be- 
lieve that He rose again, that He ascended into heaven ? 
All this I believed. Did I believe that He would accept me, 
and save me ? Yes, I believed that. What, then, was the 
matter ? 

“ While I was striving to find out, a very painful duty be- 
came plain to me. Day after day I put it from me. At last 
1 said, H can never accomplish that unless I have some 


i8o 


JIM THE PARSON. 


higher motive for it ; I will do it for the love of Christ ! ’ 
This came to me like a revelation. I forgot myself, I for- 
got to measure what amount of faith would be necessary to 
enable me to do this for Him. I thought of Him — my Lord. 
I did it for His sake — my Saviour. From that moment 
He took my hand in his, He accepted me, and then I ex- 
claimed, 4 My Lord and My God ! * ” 

“ My precious Kate ! That was it : to forget one’s self, 
to give up questions about measurements of faith. It was 
one look resting on the upraised serpent that was the 
means of healing to the sufferer — it was the unconscious 
faith. The faith that did not wait to ask, 4 Do I pos- 
sess strength to raise my eyes?’ It is the entire ac- 
ceptance without reserve of Christ in His love and in His 
work. 

44 I do not know how to thank you for this life history ; 
it is very dear to me. In all your struggles the contrast 
was strong with my experience. I am reminded of the 
twelve gates to the New Jerusalem. I entered on the 
calm and sunny southern side, you through many a 
northern storm and tempest.” 

44 Mrs. Montgomerie often talks of those twelve gates, 
when she speaks of the different forms of worship in dif- 
ferent churches. Now, I have one more subject of which 
to ask you.” 

44 Not a word more to-night, my own precious wife ; we 
have talked till Vega is on the meridian ; it must be nearly 
eleven o’clock. See that bright star in Lyra. Most ap- 
propriately is that constellation over us to-night. Do you 
remember why it is among the stars ? How the waves 
ceased to flow, and the wild beasts became tame, as Apollo 
played on his lyre, and even the mountains came to listen ? 
Well was the chief star named Vega — 4 he shall be exalt- 
ed’ — for ‘exalted’ indeed shall He be who really works 
these wonders. But I have wandered to my fancies again. 


JIM THE PARSON. 


181 


I began to say that thus have I listened to your voice, for- 
getful of time, of dew, of evening’s coolness ” 

“Oh, I never take cold — and now ” 

“ Stop, siren,” he exclaimed, putting his hands to his 
ears; “I am powerless in the presence of music, and we 
will unquestionably be wrecked in the difficult piece of 
navigation before us unless I retain my reason. Not a 
word more till we are safely on the earth.” 

Kate laughed at this unwonted facetiousness on the part 
of her husband, and again made a note of it to tell May, 
one of May’s descriptions of her brother being, “Fie is the 
best fellow in the world, but he is a regular tombstone — a 
carved list of solemn virtues.” 

Sarah met them at the door which opened into the 
church. 

“ Oh, Master Jeerns, but you’re the imprudentest man ! 
I’ll have you both down with newmony. There’s Miss 
Kate now, her dress is that damp with doo it’s as limp as a 
wet rag. Come right in to the kitchen fire.” 

“Thanks for your warm hospitality, we need hardly pro- 
ceed to such extreme measures. It was Miss Kate’s fault, 
Sarah — I was listening toiler music, and forgot the hour.” 

“Well!” returned the good dame, reproachfully, “I 
never expected to hear you throwin’ the blame on your 
wife ; ’twas bad enough for Adam. I always held he was 
a poor, mean creetur; but he never had no education, nor 
schoolin’, which stands to reason, as he never was a boy; 
but you, Master Jeems, ain’t got no excuse !” and here his 
advantages over his great progenitor were too palpable to 
require further elucidation, and Sarah busied herself with 
Kate’s damp garments. 

After this conversation, Mr. Thornton was haunted by 
the fear that his companionship would prove too grave for 
Kate, that she would lose her joyous nature, which, though 
he but half comprehended, he enjoyed the flashing of its 


JIM THE PARSOX. 


gleams of sunlight among the shadows of life. He re- 
proached himself for what he feared was his selfish love, 
and with a greater self-abnegation than even he under- 
stood he proposed to accept some of the numerous invi- 
tations to pass their evenings among the old parishioners. 
Kate was in dismay. She had never known a pleasure 
equal to the evenings with her husband, raised literally 
as well as spiritually above the earth. She knew they 
could never enjoy just such isolation again, and the even- 
ings of the three weeks to be passed at the old parsonage 
seemed too few for half she desired to hear and say. It 
was rarely possible for Kate to disguise any emotion — 
her mobile features betrayed her — and Mr. Thornton was 
frightened at her look of disappointment, which she has- 
tily tried to remove by putting an assent in words. 

“No, Kate, not after that look ! I don’t wish you to go 
anywhere without your soul, and I see that it has chosen 
the old tower for its shrine. We will pass all possible 
evenings there, and will listen or talk, while the stars keep 
watch. Don’t fancy that it is not an earthly paradise to 
me — you do not know how I dreaded your assenting to 
my proposal.” 

“ I’m half sorry I did not,” returned Kate, “ to punish you 
for making it. Do believe me, dear James, when I tell you 
that I am happier than I ever supposed possible in this 
life. There is something, too, in the little platform, with 
its ivied walls and starry canopy, that is so different from 
rooms with doors and windows, that I feel in a sort of dream- 
land, and fancy that no earthly care can touch us there.” 

It is needless to say that more evenings were passed 
there than I can tell of. Led by his wife’s interest, Mr. 
Thornton recalled the thoughts which seemed to fall upon 
him when he alone used the little retreat as his ‘study,’ 
and the evening’s communion on holy themes became the 
hope of the day. 


CHAPTER XXL 


THE VOICE OF THE PSALM. 

Sarah’s remonstrances availed nothing. Kate’s gowns 
one by one yielded their freshness to the evening dew 
that seemed to gather for this especial purpose upon 
the “ ivied platform ” of the tower. Every morning the 
faithful servant tried to restore the evening’s damage, and 
paid no attention to Kate’s extravagant ideas when she 
penitently stood beside the ironing table with, “ It’s no 
matter, Sarah ; indeed I don’t care in the least for that 
gown. Leave it as it is, and I will wear it to-night when 
we go again. I don’t want to give you so much trouble.” 

“ ’Tain’t no trouble, Miss Kate,” sighed Sarah; “but 
'tain’t right to spile things, and to-night you’ve got to go 
to Mrs. Blaine’s to tea — it won’t never do to be sayin’ 
‘ no’ to the folks as want to see Master Jeems again.” 
Then fortunately Sarah remembered her “ manners,” and 
added, “and his noo wife.” 

“ I forgot Mrs. Blaine. But we will go, Sarah, and I’ll 
tell you all the lovely things the people say about Mr. 
Thornton. Then to-morrow night we will go on the 
tower, so don’t worry any more.” 

Sarah smiled a grim smile, but abated not a whit of her 
care. She admired “ Master Jeemses wife ” immensely, and 
enjoyed the happiness of the two, but not to reprove im- 
prudence and extravagance was more than could be ex- 
pected of her. She and Richard shook their wise heads 
over the subject of how these young people were ever to 


JIM THE PARSON. 


184 

live and keep things straight. “ It’s a blessin’ they've got 
Miss May,” said Sarah ; “ 1 hope she won’t never go to be 
a-gettin’ married, an' to leave Master Jeems.” 

“ She’d never forget her dooty like that,” said Richard, 
who fully agreed with Sarah that the care of “ Master 
Jeems” was the u bounden duty” of all the family. How 
these good people were able to aid in this important work 
will appear in good time. 

Meanwhile, a delightful evening was passed among the 
parishioners at Mrs. Blaine’s, and then another when Kate 
returned to a subject on which she had told her husband 
she wanted help. 

“ What shall we talk of to-night, my Kate ?” asked he, 
when they had mounted, as usual, to the terraced top of 
the old church tower. 

“ I have an especial subject for this evening,” she re- 
plied. “ I want some help in understanding the psalms.” 

“ What is the difficulty ? they surely are written to meet 
every mood of the human heart, and to answer every ques- 
tion of the soul.” 

“ Yes, that may be ; but there are some that I cannot fol- 
low. Most of them are written by one mind — by David — 
and yet they contain extraordinary and inexplicable heights 
and depths ! At one time David is a helpless, hopeless 
man ; at another he is raised to a position of such spiritual 
exaltation that he sees with the eyes of his soul, and is 
incomprehensible to those who are only human. I know 
that many of the psalms are directly prophetical of our 
Lord and are clearly explained by the light of the New 
Testament, but my trouble is with those whose fulfilment 
seems located neither in heaven nor on earth.” 

“ But surely, Kate, such psalms are but a small portion 
of the whole.” 

“ Their range of thought is so far-reaching that perhaps 
they seem multiplied to me. I am thankful there are 


JIM THE PARSON. 


185 


some I understand ; the 119th is my delight. After study- 
ing the books of Moses, and learning the wisdom of the 
Law, and the wondrous perfection of the Ritual, I had no 
words in which to express my feelings but those of Ezra, 

‘ flow I love thy law, it is my meditation all the day — thy 
testimonies are the rejoicing of my heart.’ I do not doubt 
that the psalm was written by Ezra as a manual of devo- 
tion, after his arrangement of the sacred books, but I 
would amend the words ‘ manual of devotion ’ and say an 
1 outburst of thanksgiving do you remember the words, 
‘ at midnight I will rise to give thanks unto thee ? ’ ” 

“Indeed I do, and ‘the earth, O Lord, is full of thy 
mercy, teach me thy statutes.’ The whole psalm has 
always been to me also a sort of relief, a safety-valve to 
an over-full heart. But how about the penitential psalms 
— what are they to you ? ” 

“ They are as much too deep as the others are too high. 
I doubt if many persons feel their sins so intensely.” 

“ Some have done so, but the burden of sin does not 
press heavily on all. Not many who come under our 
notice, sin as David did ; but even if those psalms are not a 
personal experience, do you think they are too deeply 
abhorrent of sin in the abstract, of such sin as required 
the atonement of our Lord upon the cross ? I think David 
saw greater possibilities in sin than we think of.” 

“ That may be,- but we are directed to the psalms as 
devotional exercises — what I can feel for myself is what 
I need.” 

“ We must choose among them, dear Kate, such as are 
suited to our wants ; we have wandered a little from vour 
difficulty. If I understand you we will leave out those 
called Messianic , the penitential , and ” 

“ The historical , if I may so call the records of the Lord’s 
long suffering and tender mercy to His chosen people. 
Now explain to me the paeans of thanksgiving for a condi- 


i86 JIM THE PARSON. 

tion of things that David never saw, and that did not even 
exist in paradise.” 

“ I understand you. Did it ever occur to you that they 
may also be prophetic ? ” 

“Yes, I have thought so, but I do not fully know of 
what time. Take, for instance, the 98th, I have studied the 
authorities about it. The authorship is not given. Towns- 
end’s date is 1004 b.c., and the occasion of its use, on the 
removal of the Ark to the Temple. Calmet places it after 
the Babylonish captivity, and supposes it sung on the ded- 
ication of the second Temple ; all agree that it was in- 
tended for Temple worship — it is classed among psalms of 
thanksgiving ; now tell me its appropriateness.” 

“ Do you allow sufficiently for the poetical element of 
the psalms ? Certainly the universe could be called upon 
to praise the Lord when either Temple was dedicated. 
Nothing could have been more magnificent than the dedi- 
cation of Solomon’s Temple. Read only the arrangement 
of the singers, it is in 2 Chron. v. 12-14: ‘And all the Levites, 
the singers, all of them of Asaph, of Heman, of Jeduthun, 
with their sons and their brethren, arrayed in white linen, 
having cymbals and psalteries and harps, stood at the east 
end of the altar, and with them an hundred and twenty 
priests sounding with trumpets ... as the trumpeters 
and singers were as one, to make one sound to be heard 
in praising and thanking the Lord ; and when they lifted 
up their voice with the trumpets and cymbals and instru- 
ments of music, and praised the Lord, saying, For He is 
good; for His mercy endureth forever: that then the house 
was filled with a cloud, even the house of the Lord; so that 
the priests could not stand to minister by reason of the 
cloud ; for the glory of the Lord had filled the house of 
God.’ Surely the Temple choirs might sing most truly, 
‘ With trumpets and sound of cornet make a joyful noise 
before the Lord the King/ The second Temple was less 


JIM THE P A RS ON. 


187 


magnificent in its arrangements, and yet Judah’s company 
had been brought from captivity and restored to their land. 
They too might ‘sing unto the Lord a new song.’” 

“ Do not think me persistent — I acknowledge all you say, 
but when I remember that holy men of God spoke as they 
were moved by the Spirit, I feel that such words as are in 
the 98th psalm have a direct message to me. When will 
I understand its meaning ? ” 

“It told the victory of God’s truth, the vindication of 
his Word, the accomplishment of His purpose,” said her 
husband. 

“Yes, but I want something more definite, I want to 
sing such psalms as the 98th and 99th from my heart.” 

“ You shall sing them from your heart ! They are called 
Royal psalms, from the 93d to the 100th inclusive, omit- 
ting the 94th. Seven psalms tell of the glory of Jehovah’s 
reign on earth. Two advents are prophesied in the Old 
Testament, tivo advents are described in the New. These 
psalms are really Messianic — they tell of the second ad- 
vent of Messiah as King, they tell of Jehovah’s reign. I 
hesitated to show you all my heart, for I only find a part 
of my belief in the best expositors, but — hereon our tower 
— alone beneath the stars, let us pass into the future, be - 
yond this present dispensation, beyond the rising to meet the 
Lord, beyond the Paradise of the redeemed, beyond the 
tribulations of the earth, beyond the union of Jew and Is- 
raelite, with their fourth Temple ; onward, Kate, till the 
words of the redeemed are fulfilled ; * Thou hast made us 
unto our God, kings and priests, and we shall reign on the 
earth.' Not above it, Kate, 1 on the earth.’ And on this 
earth, of which the wilderness and solitary place shall be 
glad, and the desert shall rejoice and blossom like a rose, 
it shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice even with joy and 
singing. ‘And the ransomed of the Lord shall return and 
come to Zion with songs, and everlasting joy upon their 


i8S 


JIM THE PARSON. 


heads. They will come to a Jerusalem rebuilt, and will 
look upon Zion the city of our solemnities their ‘eyes 
shall shall see Jerusalem, a quiet habitation, a tabernacle 
that shall not he taken down.’ Glorious will be the Tem- 
ple upon the top of the mountain, for the Lord will ‘set 
His Sanctuary in the midst for evermore.’ The wall of 
partition will be broken down and Jew and Gentile to- 
gether worship in its courts, for ‘ Gentiles shall come to 
Thy light, and kings to the brightness of Thy rising. * 
Then shall the Lord be king, ‘ from the rising of the sun 
unto the going down of the same,’ for ‘ the glory of the 
God of Israel came from the way of the east, . . . 
and the earth shined with His glory.’ Then ! then, Kate, 
when we are standing among the arches and the palm- 
trees of the courts of that last earthly Temple, looking 
toward the Sanctuary, with its galleries of white-robed 
choirs, then we will know what David meant, as the glo- 
rious incense of music bears aloft the words. 

“ ‘ O, sing unto the Lord a new song, for He hath done 
marvellous things ; His right hand and His holy arm hath 
gotten Himself the victory.’ Another choir, with the 
sounding of harp and organ, takes up the song of praise to 
Him who hath brought Israel to worship in His courts, 
to Him who hath loved us, and washed us with His 
blood, 

*‘‘The Lord hath made known His salvation. His 
righteousness hath He openly showed in the sight of the 
heathen. He hath remembered His mercy and truth 
toward the house of Israel, all the ends of the earth have 
seen the salvation of our God,* 

“ Then, echoing from gallery to gallery, from court to 
court, in loveliest strains, the coming of the King is pro- 
claimed. ‘Sing unto the Lord with a harp, and the voice 
of a psalm, with trumpets and sound of a cornet make a 
joyful noi§e befQp? the Lord the King/ 


JIM THE PARSON. 189 

“ Back and forth, until the air is jubilant with song, and 
every heart ready to join in the full chorus : 

‘ Lei the floods clap their hands, 

Let the hills be joyful together — 

Before the Lord ! 

For He cometh ! 

To judge the earth and His people with equity.’ 99 

Mr. Thornton paused ; he had stood bareheaded under 
the star-glory, with eyes upraised. He had forgotten all 
but that “far beyond.” 

Presently he said : “ Kate, are you answered ? ” 

“ Oh, more than answered ! Now I know when we can 
sing that ‘the Lord reigneth.’ Now I understand that as 
type and prophecy united in Solomon’s Temple, believing 
Israel could sing these psalms of prophecy and of promise. 
How soul-entrancing it is to look forward to uniting in that 
chorus. I can almost fancy that we already stand on one 
of the towers of the Holy City, waiting for the sounds 
which will teach us true music. The perfect harmony of 
earth and heaven.” 

“ Perfect harmony, for it will be Reconciliation.” 


CHAPTER XXII. 


HOME. 

Many happy days followed, but all more or less like those 
of which I have told, and therefore I will not tell more of 
this particular honeymoon. Someone, a very good cler- 
gyman, too, said he did not believe a bride and groom ever 
had the enjoyment in the serious conversations here de- 
scribed. Perhaps not ; and if my readers wish to place 
themselves in the position of Kate or her husband, and to 
omit all the sermons and long talks, they can skip the par- 
sonage experiences, and read a letter received from May 
by her brother. 

He read it aloud before he discovered that Kate was by 
no means to know its contents until her wishes on the sub- 
ject were expressed. 

May detailed her trials in reducing the house and its be- 
longings to a proper condition to receive the future master 
and mistress, and how these trials were increased by the 
incompetency of the servants. All being explained to her 
brother in a most comical way, as if the subject were ut- 
terly unknown to him. In fact, it was, but the difficulties 
were sufficiently clear to make her proposition very im- 
portant. It was that Sarah and Richard might return with 
them, and bring order out of chaos. “ The present cook,” 
May wrote, “ is a bull in a china-shop. She sweeps destruc- 
tion in her path and flirts desolation from her skirts. A 
cook, Jim — did you ever hear of one ? — is a person who, 
although ostensibly living in a kitchen, controls the entire 


JIM THE PARSON. 


191 

happiness of the family. She can poison all their joys, de- 
stroy their best-laid plans, make life a burden and exist- 
ence a misery. These are the gifts and capabilities of the 
present incumbent. 

“ Suggest our old treasures in a skilful and gentle way, 
dear old boy ; don’t fire them at Kate’s head, or let her think 
wc want them. Sarah’s character is not one that develops 
like a sky-rocket, and its brilliancy may not have impressed 
my lovely sister. Now, do be careful, Jim.” 

So he was. He read every word of the letter aloud, 
without looking it over first, carefully omitting nothing, 
and very properly came to a sudden stand-still at these 
last words. 

“ Better keep on,” said Kate, laughing merrily over his 
discomfiture. “ There is no help for it now. I see into all 
May’s secret plans, and will tell her that her confidential 
communications would be safer addressed to me.” 

“Oh — but don’t have them if you don’t want to. May 
can find someone else,” the reader exclaimed, in dismay. 

“ But I do want to. I trust they will consent to come. 
Don’t be frightened. May is a mine of wisdom, and I 
trust will dismiss her menagerie before our return.” 

So Kate proceeded without delay to make the proposal 
to Sarah. The good woman was secretly delighted, but 
would give no definite answer till Richard was asked. 

“We can’t work as we once did,” she said ; “but how- 
somever, if it’s app’inted, and it’s best, it had better be. 
I’d rather work for Miss May and Master Jeems than not ; 
and, as you say, that there Job can help with the sexton- 
ing.” 

Kate was too much pleased with the result of her nego- 
tiations to be disturbed at this utter ignoring of her claims ; 
she trusted to time to give her a place in the hearts of the 
old couple. 

Richard proved his good sense by accepting the proposal 


192 JIM THE PARSON, 

at once, and Kate lost no time in reporting the good news 
to May. 

The last quarter of the honeymoon was passed in the 
manner more common to brides and grooms. A conven- 
tional wedding journey, including many lovely scenes and 
places, ended only in September. They were ready then 
to begin their home life, and to resume their active parish 
work. 

Kate will tell her own story of those early days. 

rate’s journal. 

“ It is the brightest and loveliest of September days, and 
of all days these are the most gold-laden of the year. The 
light is level in long lines of glory, a depth and warmth 
seems to give a luxuriance and gorgeousness that no other 
season has. 

“ It is the day after our home-coming. * The day of 
possession,’ James says. May went last night to Burnside, 
and this morning we were alone at our breakfast-table ; 
our silver and our china made it a perfect picture, and I 
was behind the urn, so that James could not see me. He 
moved it on one side. ‘ Will it be less convenient there ? ’ 
he asked. 

“ What a silly thing to write ! 

“ Mrs. Montgomerie came for May yesterday evening. 
‘I had to look in upon you,’ she said, in her cheery voice. 

* I only wanted to see whether there is any hope of your 
settling down into a properly demure pastor and pastor- 
ella,’ and she laughed as she swept May off before I knew 
she was going. She need not have gone — she is so a part 
of James, that I have accepted her without any of that 
holding back that I might have as to a husband’s sister. I 
am so used to his look of appeal to her, when convention- 
alities are too much for him, or when he needs help in any 
social trouble. I don’t think I object to it ; sometimes, 


JIM THE PARSON, 


1 93 


perhaps, I have thought that when we were married he 
would look to me for solutions of life-problems. Perhaps 
he will — it don’t matter much — his heart is so great, so 
wonderful, that I can spare May one corner. 

“ ‘ One corner , 5 when she used to have the whole. I 
am selfish, but just at present I see no hope of amendment ; 
in fact, I mistook — I am generous , to give the smallest por- 
tion. 

“When I came to my room — ‘ my room , 5 do you hear 
that? — my room in my own house — when I came up-stairs, 
I found on my writing-table a velvet-covered book. On the 
outside, in silver letters, were the words, ‘ Kate’s Journal/ 
then the date. 

“ An exquisite writing apparatus and gold pen lay beside 
it. 

“ ‘ Did you put this here for me ? 5 I asked of my husband. 

“ I will not tell even you — my journal — what he said, or 
how lie said it. He thought I might like sometimes to put 
down my thoughts in it— ‘not for me to see , 5 he added, 
‘only for your own communion with your own heart . 5 

“And how I thanked him, or what I said, is no affair of 
yours — little velvet book, do you think you will know 
everything ? 

“ It was so delicious to be at our own tea-table, James 
opposite to me, and May brimming over with fun and sym- 
pathy. That seems an odd mixture, but it is May exactly. 
Half of life is a joke to her, but never at the expense of 
feeling. One is amused and carried away by her nonsense, 
but has never a wound. As I said before, after tea she 
went away. ‘ My dear , 5 she said, ‘ I am tired out with my 
anxieties lest you should find a speck on your household 
horizon. I must rest at Burnside. Besides, I should die of 
envy — such bliss is agony to an outsider . 55 

“ ‘ May ! ’ said James, reproachfully, whereupon May fell 
on his neck and kissed him. 


*3 


194 


JIM THE PARSON. 


“ * There's only one of you, you know, you precious old 
Jim ; let me go for a while — I would rather take your hap- 
piness by instalments. A sister’s heart never rejoiced more 
than mine. Kate and you are twined and intertwined 
around its pillars — mention the “pillars of a heart ” in your 
next sermon, Jim — but I want you to be alone for a while.’ 

“Before we could answer, Mrs. Montgomerie came, and 
then we were alone in our new home. 

“ ‘To-day, September 4th, all my household duties are 
done. Sarah has quietly assumed most of my cares. I 
tried to dust the rooms, but Sarah had done it already. I 
went to the cage of the bullfinch, but it was fresh and 
clean, and its feathered occupant was singing rapturously 
in the sunbeam that gilded its prison-house. That bird 
must have the freedom of the house ; I am in no mood for 
bolts and bars to confine any of God’s creatures. 

“I tried the poultry yard, but everything was in order 
there, only Boz bounding around me. 

“ ‘ Sarah, can I help you in any way ? ’ I meekly sug- 
gested. 

“ ‘No, thank you, Miss Kate ; everything is so new and 
clean, there ain’t scarce anything to do. I’m ready for 
your orders, if you please, though.’ 

“Sarah said that, from a stern sense of duty, she had not 
had ‘orders ’ for a generation. 

“ I concluded to accept the suggestion,-and talked learn- 
edly about our dinners, hoping at the end of my exordium 
that she*was ‘comfortable and happy.’ 

“‘Comfortable ! Most certainly ; both me and Richard 
is ; and, Miss Kate, if we can do for you and Master Jeems 
and Miss May, we will be happy enough. I never needed 
nothin’ to entertain me. When my work is over, I reads 
my Bible, and thinks over what I am to do to-morrow.’ 

“‘Faithful over a few things, thou shalt be ruler over 
many things,’ I said. 


JIM THE PARSON. 


*95 


4 4 4 Jest so, Miss Kate ; ’tain’t no use to worry. Jest do 
what the Lord puts nearest to you — that’s my rule/ 

44 4 A good rule it is, Sarah — the nearest duty first/ 

44 4 Master Jeems said if 1 should see you to say he is in 
the church with Richard/ 

“And I had wasted a half-hour away from him. No, 
not wasted — I gained two lessons from Sarah. The near- 
est duty first, and the preparation for life’s great to-mor- 
row. More than that, she told me of content; but I had 
no need for that lesson, with my heart full of joy. 

“ I went into the church. James put out his dear hand 
and drew me to him. 4 I want you to see how beautifully 
clean everything is. Richard says there is hardly anything 
to do/ 

44 We talked a while to Richard, and then he went away 
on some errand foe James, and my husband and I sat down 
in the rector’s pew and recounted our blessings. 

“‘James,’ I said, 4 it is not one of the least that I can 
help you in your parish work. My household cares are to 
be light, I find, and I am longing for real occupation. 
We have had a long holiday.’ 

44 4 Let us take counsel on this matter,’ said he, drawing 
a paper from his pocket — 4 a sort of petition from some of 
the ladies for a new society to sew for the poor.’ 

44 4 Have we many poor ? ’ 

4 4 4 The factory people are principally in the other part 
of the village, and are cared for by the chapel. There are 
twelve families among our communicants who need help, 
and a few scattered people whom I am in the habit of as- 
sisting. I want to try a new plan.’ 

44 And then he asked my advice about dividing the poor 
of the parish among those of the communicants who would 
be willing to undertake the charge, the idea beingto make 
them responsible for certain families. He saw the danger 
of pauperizing the poor, but hoped to meet this. lap- 


196 


JIM THE PARSON, 


proved of dividing the families formally, but thought both 
had better come to him. Those who were willing to 
look after the needy to report to him, and those who 
needed care also. This plan he liked. We then talked 
of divisions of parish duty, and the benefit of each mem- 
ber of the church having some especial work. 1 1 want 
a more thoroughly working church,’ he said ; ‘ all to feel 
their responsibility for its well-being. My first care is 
to preach the Gospel, in the pulpit, in the Sunday-school, 
and in daily life. The second, to keep the whole body in 
vigorous work, and in good running order.’ 

“ But I cannot tell all we said, all the plans we made. I 
went up and tried the dear organ again, and we decided 
on what we should sing on Sunday. Then James told me 
again how I had helped him by illustrating his thoughts 
by mv singing. We sung a lovely hymn together, and I 
felt as if I never wanted to leave the church. It seemed 
as if it would be beautiful to live there. 

“ We watched the sun illumine the different parts, we 
talked of the colored lights that fell in different places, and 
then we went to the New Jerusalem with its rainbow hues. 
And, oh, how hard it was to say ‘We are coming, Sarah,’ 
when she called us to dinner. 

“ But dinner was very delightful after all, and after dinner 
Aunt Alice sent her new carriage for us to take a drive, on 
the express condition, she said, that we returned there to tea. 

“ They had all been so good to let us have one quiet day 
that we agreed to this. 

“ What rejoicing there was over us ! All were well and 
happy. Ellie is pale, but jumped into my arms as she 
always does. 

“They all came in after tea — the same old tea on the 
grand piazza — grandma and May, and Mr. and Mrs. Mont- 
gomerie. We had a very, very happy evening, and now I 
am in my beautiful room writing about my first days. . . 


JIM THE PARSON \ 


l 97 


“ Three weeks have passed; our darling May is home 
again. She does not interfere with our happiness, but adds 
to it by her love and sympathy. I think it is a little hard 
for her sometimes. The days of quiet and of leisure are 
over; we all are occupied from morning to night, a happy, 
bright life of work for others. I am so rejoiced that James 
lias no idea of keeping me apart from his parish labors. I 
am with him in every duty, except his preaching and par- 
ish visits. Those I would rather lie should make alone. 
I know there are many things his people will tell him that 
even his wife must not hear.” 

“ My journal is neglected. It is November, and the 
ground is already covered with snow. Elbe is not so 
strong as in summer, and yet there really is nothing the 
matter. I cannot define why we look at her with anxiety. 
Mr. Hogeboom is urging Aunt Alice to pass the winter 
in Cuba. She cannot leave us, she says. 

“ James’ sermons are wonderful — like someone inspired. 
He is only trammelled by notes — his thoughts come too 
fast even for his words. How he thanked me for the Ju- 
bilate last Sunday! He was going to preach on the Feast 
of Tabernacles, and everything was to be in accordance 
with the subject. If the Jewish ceremonials are ever re- 
stored, James will certainly be the first one in Jerusalem.” 

Here the journal, as it was named on the outside of the 
book, was closed for months. The daily duties increased, 
Mr. Thornton finding enough to occupy a battalion, and 
until five o’clock each day there was work for all. After 
that hour the little circle usually passed their evenings to- 
gether, never weary of intercourse that seemed ever new 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


SHADOWS. 

The winter which began so early became so severe that 
the pleasure of passing the evenings together was given 
up. The roads were almost impassable, from the repeated 
storms, and many houses were blocked with snow. 

Mr. Thornton formed a society among the boys of the 
Sunday-school to clear away the snow from the houses of 
the poorer members of the church. Each one who joined 
this society of the “ Jolly Diggers,” as they called them- 
selves, received a present of high rubber boots and warm 
mittens. This saved their spending their days with wet 
feet, as of necessity their work was done before school. 

Job Beers was captain, and asserted his dignity by driv- 
ing to his work in his sled. His duty was to superintend 
the work, and to report where it was needed. He was 
good-natured and just, so that the boys were willing to 
vield to his authority. There was one objection to the 
“Diggers;” they considered it incumbent on them to 
“ stop at the parsin’s an’ give it tew him reg’lar.” As this 
ceremony took place at the first glimpse of dawn, and 
consisted in three cheers and a tiger, which were repeated 
till the much-enduring “ parsin ” stood at the window and 
waved his hand, it may be inferred that there were briers 
as well as roses in the pastor’s garden. 

In the parsonage kitchen, Sarah was obliged to consent 
to a temporary assistant, to aid in the preparation of the 
food to be sent out daily, for sickness followed the ex- 


JIM THE PARSON, \ 


l 99 


tremely inclement weather, and many poor families were 
prostrated with colds, which neglected, became fevers, and 
then diphtheria began its ravages. 

The number of families who were supported by factory 
work was very great, and the proportion of children large. 

As the epidemic increased, it was difficult to find enough 
nurses, although many volunteered their help, and from 
the beginning May devoted herself to the work. Kate 
vainly tried to obtain permission to assist, but her hus- 
band’s face of distress was pitiable. 

“ Don’t ask it, Kate. I simply cannot consent. You 
run risk enough in seeing May and me.” 

“ May goes,” said Kate. At which May replied : 

“ I have the advantage over you, my dear ; I never vowed 
to obey that tyrannical old Jim,” and then as usual she 
made a plunge in his arms and kissed him. 

“I must bring two children here to-day,” said Mr. Thorn- 
ton ; “can you find a place for them, Kate ?” She prom- 
ised to do what she could for them, but still it was hard to 
see the brother and sister go off without her. At dinner- 
time May came back ; this was unusual. 

“ Has Jim told you,” she asked, “what I have been try- 
ing to beat into his precious head ?” 

“ Not a word,” said Kate ; “ I have been so busy with the 
frightened children that I have not seen him.” 

“It is this: Aunt Alice wishes to help with the nursing, 
Mrs. Herndon also ; the only trouble was with their chil- 
dren. Nora Herndon will go to Burnside to take Char- 
lotte’s place ; she can do a maid’s duties now. Aunt Alice 
and I will stay at Mrs. Herndon’s. Laura will take care 
of the Waterside children, and all communication will be 
through John Brace in the mill, where we are fumigated. 
The infectious fever increases ; we must work while we 
can.” 

“Well put in, May,” said Kate. 


200 


JIM THE PARS OH. 


“ My dear, as the Lord needs us vve will have strength.” 

“ Why can He not be trusted to take care of me ? ” 

“ Kate ! Kate ! don’t ask it,” and Mr. Thornton looked 
beseechingly at May. 

“No, Jim, you know I don’t agree with you ; but there 
is no need yet ; we have six besides the hired nurses. Be 
patient, Kate.” 

And Kate found sufficient occupation in preparing food 
and clothes ; and in taking care of the children sent away 
from infection. All were at work at Burnside, even John 
and the coachman being occupied in errands of mercy, 
while a horse and sleigh were put at Mr. Thornton’s dis- 
posal by Mr. Montgomerie, and another provided by his 
mother for Mr. Watkins, who preached at the chapel. 
Even old Susan forgot her aches and pains in the general 
distress, and made herself quite useful in the Burnside 
store-room in giving out articles of clothing. As to the 
colored cook, Lucy, she was mortally afraid the world was 
corning to an end. She had seen a meteor, and had felt 
the explosion of a powder-mill. It was far away, but she 
thought it was an earthquake. 

“ Don spec me to blieve,” she said, “ that when I was 
all shooked up, t’was notin but a mill.” These portentous 
events, added to the unprecedented snow-storms and the 
raging epidemic, thoroughly frightened her into strug- 
gling to do her duty with a rigidness she had never felt 
before. 

She volunteered to take the laundry work, and with 
Nora’s assistance accomplished it satisfactorily. Kate was 
at last permitted to join the nurses ; not to remain at any 
one sick-bed, but to watch while others rested. This was 
as much needed as regular nursing, and Kate was hap- 
pier. 

“How Mr. Thornton stands seeing those girls pass their 
time in those fevered houses, I cannot imagine,” said Mrs. 


JIM THE PARSON. 


201 


Montgomerie to herself one day, as she looked out at the 
thickly falling snow-flakes. “I suppose he cannot help 
it, but if anything should happen to them ! ” 

“ Did you call me, ma’am ?” asked Nora, coming in. 

“No, my child, I was talking to myself. Is Susan able 
to knit to*day ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, she is doing nicely. She likes giving out the 
clothes. I hear our sleigh-bells, don’t you, ma’am?” It 
was always “our” with everything at Burnside. 

“ Yes, the sleigh is coming in the gate. Run, open the 
door, I do believe Mrs. Thornton is inside.” 

“ Come in, child,” called Polly, as Kate, with a large 
bundle in her arms and a little girl beside her, entered the 
open door. 

“ My child ! what is it ? Come right in. There, Nora, 
take Mrs. Thornton’s cloak. Come in, little girl. Kate, 
what have you got ? ” 

“ Ellen Morton’s baby,” she replied, placing the bundle 
in a chair. “ Nora, take Janey to the kitchen and give her 
something to eat, they have no fever at the Mortons’.” 

As the door closed on the children, she sank exhausted 
on the sofa. 

“ I will explain in a moment,” she said, but was utterly 
spent, and Mrs. Montgomerie asked no more questions, 
but hastened to remove her wraps and tenderly to give 
restoratives. 

It was useless to reproach anyone for over-work, no one 
could stop while strength lasted, and Kate knew that sym- 
pathy only would come from her old friend. The color 
began to return to her pale face, but she did not speak, 
and Mrs. Montgomerie took up the bundle of shawls that 
Kate had laid in the chair and opened them sufficiently 
to find an entirely nude infant, with eyes closed, and 
mouth set as if it would never open. She carried it at 
once to Lucy. 


202 


JIM THE PARSON. 


“ Here, Lucy, you know all about babies ” — this was 
bare-faced flattery — “ see what you can do for this poor 
child ; give it warm milk, half water. Nora, run up to 
Susan and ask for one of the babies’ bottles, and the small- 
est clothes that are left.” 

More than ever convinced that the end was coming, 
Lucy took the child, and holding it with one arm, busied 
the other with warming milk for it. 

“ When was baby born, Janey ? ” asked Mrs. Montgom- 
erie of the little girl, who was soothing her sorrows with a 
bowl of bread and milk. 

“ I don’ know, ma’am ; I went to sleep on the floor, and 
when I waked up, there was Mrs. Thornton holding that 
baby, and Sarah Duffy was working round. I guess she 
brought it, I don’t see what ever she did it for.” 

“ It’s your little brother, my dear,” replied Mrs. Mont- 
gomerie. 

“ I’m awful sorry,” said Janey ; “ brothers is such wild 
injuns, none of the girls that’s got ’em likes ’em.” 

“ Have any of them got such dear little creatures as this 
one is ? ” 

“I don’t know ; they’s mostly bigger. That’s the kind 
that has to be trotted and pounded ; that’s the worst kind,” 
and Janey looked savagely at the new-comer. 

“What do they have to be pounded for?” asked the 
old lady. 

“To get ’em to sleep, ma’am ; fixed wind gets in ’em, 
and they has to be pounded to get it out ; they are real 
horrid.” 

“Evidently one is never too old to learn,” thought Mrs. 
Montgomerie, trying to preserve a proper gravity. 

“ I am sorry to hear you talk so, Janey ; this little baby 
cannot do as much for itself as a kitten ; I want you to 
help take care of him. If you are kind to him, he will love 
you, and you will have a good little brother. If you are 


JIM THE PARSON. 


203 


cross to him, he will be cross too. Perhaps the girls who 
have such bad brothers were cross to them.” 

“ I guess they wus ! He is good now.” 

“That is because Lucy is so kind to him ; it frightens 
babies when anyone is cross.” 

Janev seemed somewhat impressed, and followed Lucy 
to the laundry to witness the bathing and dressing of the 
unwelcome brother. 

Mrs. Montgomerie returned to Kate ; in the hall she 
met John, who was waiting to know what to do next. He 
had been to the parsonage, “ as missus said, I was ter,” 
and from there Sarah sent him to Morton’s, telling him 
that Mr. and Mrs. Thornton had been there all night, and 
that Richard had gone off, so that there was no way to get 
them home to breakfast. Sarah was in great distress about 
it, so, said he, “ I drove to Morton’s, and there was Mr. 
Thornton watchin’ for somebody to come by to take Mrs. 
Thornton home. He was mortal glad I got thar, he put 
Mrs. Thornton and the children in, in no time, and said I 
wus to go ter the parsnige. Sudden ses Mrs. Thornton, ses 
she, ‘ John, drive to Burnside,’ and so I did. Now I think 
I’d better go back to Morton’s.” 

“Yes, John, and find Mr. Thornton somewhere, and tell 
him that Mrs. Thornton is here, and I will keep her all 
day. Better stop and tell Sarah too.” 

Mrs. Montgomerie went back to the kitchen. “ Lucy, 
evidently Mrs. Thornton has had no breakfast; as soon as 
you can, send up something nice for her — coffee and 
broiled chicken will do.” 

Lucy’s special pride was in answering sudden calls up- 
on her genius, and before long breakfast waited Kate’s 
waking. This was not long delayed ; she woke somewhat 
refreshed, and delighted the heart of Mrs. Montgomerie 
by enjoying her coffee and chicken, and by regaining her 
own bright look once more. Until she had eaten, she 


204 


JIM THE PARSON. 


was not allowed to speak, and then she recounted her ex- 
periences in a way that made her friend’s heart ache. 

“The illness, you know, is fearful ; hardly a house of 
the operatives unattacked. We have everything systema- 
tized, and if our strength holds out, think that the worst 
will soon be over. Removing the children is very impor- 
tant ; we have them quartered everywhere, and so far this 
plan has been a success. Yesterday I was all day going 
from place to place, relieving those who were weary, and 
doing what else I could. At last I returned to a late din- 
ner, thinking the day’s work over ; James was tired out, the 
horse was put up, and we were striving to change the cur- 
rent of our thoughts for a while. Suddenly, about ten 
o’clock the bell rang, and we were summoned to Morton’s. 
Ellen was ill, and her husband had delirium tremens. 
They have not had the fever, and it seemed too aggrava- 
ting for a man to add the horrors of drink to all the rest ! 
The messenger said he heard groans, and finding no one 
was there, came for us. Richard put the horse in, in a few 
moments, and drove us there ; we then sent him home, for 
the horse was as tired as we, and said we would walk back- 

“It was a dreadful scene. Morton had struck Ellen, and 
she was on the floor, insensible, and h& was temporarily 
sobered by fright. We got her to bed in the other room, 
locked the door to be safe from her husband, while James 
went for Sarah Duffy. The situation was rather alarming 
to me, fearing Ellen would die, and that her husband 
would break down the door. However neither happened, 
James returned with Sarah, and in his wonderful way 
calmed Morton, and got him to bed. It suddenly oc- 
curred to me that if Ellen died, her husband might be ac- 
cused of murder, so, without letting James know, I went 
out of the back door to Patrick Quinn’s, where I knew Dr. 
Berry was. It was not far and the snow gave light, so 
don’t look so shocked, dear grandma.” 


JIM THE PARSON. 


205 


ci Kate, dear, if I were not certain that you will be cared 
for by a surer protection than our love can give you, I 
would not have a moment’s peace.” 

“Nothing harmed me, there was no one out ; I found 
Dr. Berry, and he returned with me. He gave something 
quieting to Morton, to the great relief of James, and then 
examined Ellen. Her husband had struck her head, but 
neither that nor the fall seemed to have injured her ; there 
were other difficulties from which she had suffered for a 
long time, and which clearly caused her death.” 

“ Death ! Is she dead ? ” 

“Yes, she died immediately after the birth of her child. 
She was unconscious all the time, but Dr. Berry was 
positive that, although the blow caused her insensibility, 
she would have died just the same. I am thankful that I 
thought to go for him, we might have had a trial for mur- 
der to go through with. There is another comfort : Ellen 
was a Christian, a good, true, conscientious Christian. 
Very ignorant, but with a simple trust that seemed to bear 
her up in troubles that would have crushed her without.” 
“Thank God for that, Kate ; had you seen her lately? ” 
“Yes, I was there a few days before. Morton was doing 
well then, and she was hopeful and comparatively happy. 
She was always happy when he treated her well, and un- 
less possessed by the demon of drink he generally did so. 
Amid all the horrors of the night, Sarah Duffy was her 
own odd self, nearly convulsing me with her speeches. 
The last was, ‘ I declare it’s real discouraging, when a 
mother goes out just as her child comes in.’ I had be- 
come so overworked and nervous — fancy my strong nerves 
giving way — that I took refuge with James, and frightened 
him by a hysterical spasm of laughter. I believe he 
thought I had lost my mind, for he looked at me in 
that odd, inquiring way of his, at which May always 
laughs.” 


206 


JIM THE PARS OH. 


“Your experiences as a bride are somewhat unusual,” 
said the old lady, taking Kate’s hand. 

“ Bride ! Was I ever a bride ? I feel as if I had always 
been married, and had always taken care of sick peo- 
ple!” — and Kate passed her hand over her eyes, as if to 
shut out some of the scenes of the last month. 

“ I shall take you in hand, my dear ; I have sent to tell 
Mr. Thornton where you are, for here you are to stay till 
you are rested.” 

“Oh, that reminds me to tell you why I came. It was 
late when I frightened James so, and soon after, John’s 
welcome bells jingled at the door. I wrapped up the baby 
and waked Janey, who had slept all night on the floor by 
the fire, and started for home. On the way I felt so weary 
and faint that I wanted you, dear, faithful friend, and told 
John to drive here. You know the rest.” 

“ My precious child, I know all. I have sent to your 
husband and to Sarah that you are here. Now go up to 
my quiet room, there is a bright wood fire, the sofa is be- 
side it ; go then, and sleep until all this nervous exhaus- 
tion is relieved. You only need sleep, and its blessed for- 
getfulness, for a few hours to bring you to yourself again.” 

Kate was glad to go, for the nervous system which she 
had prided herself on always keeping under control, had 
asserted its power in a very troublesome way. The scenes 
of the past night were continually coming back to her, the 
dying mother, the intoxicated father, the helpless infant, 
seemed to be burned in her brain. At last she slept. 

When she waked, her husband had been watching for 
an hour bv her side, and the blessed refreshment of his 
untiring love helped to restore her as much as the sleep 
had done. 

“My work seems over for to-day, my darling,” he said ; 
“we will stay here and enjoy this peace and quiet.” 

Kate did not care to sleep again, but remained on the 


JIM THE PARS OX. 


207 


sofa, feeling the novel effect of overwrought nerves in 
extreme weakness. This day of rest was a comfort to them 
all, and their hostess made much of the “ ill-wind ” that 
had brought her so much good. 

The unfortunate baby and little Jane found a tempor- 
arv home with the woman who took charge of the Burn- 
side dairy, and their father seemed thoroughly sobered 
by the loss of his good and faithful wife ; he finally sent 
for a sister to take care of his house, and on solemn 
promises of amendment, was permitted to have his chil- 
dren again. The fever abated by degrees, and life re- 
sumed its usual conditions at Brighton. 

Once more the velvet-covered book was again opened, 
and a few more pages written. 

“ Oh ! most misnamed book, the entries are weeks 
apart ; and yet I am glad I made no record of the suffer- 
ing of this winter. It is almost over ; the tyranny of 
fever is past. There have been about thirty deaths. All 
have escaped who nursed the sick, some with slight at- 
tacks, some entirely. Among these last I can number — 
most thankfully — our little circle. James was indefati- 
gable, watching, talking, praying, pleading to the end. 
Night work was as familiar to him as day work. When 
possible, he conscientiously slept as many hours as his 
anxious mind would permit, but nothing was done regu- 
larly in regard to our comforts. Sarah always had food 
ready ; we ate it when we could. Now that we have re- 
turned to three meals a day, served in the usual style, they 
seem strangely ceremonious. May is with us again, well 
and strong as ever : she says she did not break down, be- 
cause she dismissed all other care. ‘It is the trying to do 
too many things at once, my dear,’ she said, in her wise 
way, ‘ that kills us poor women.’ Aunt Alice looks tired, 
and is still anxious about our little angel child, Ellie. 
She is so good, and pure, and gentle, we feared she might 


208 


JIM THE PARSON. 


die young, like good children in the Sunday-school books; 
yet so far she only is threatened with illness. At Burn- 
side, the old hospitalities are resumed, and each servant is 
in position again. 

“ For myself — what shall I say ? Am I better for all 
this trouble ? I have gained in patience, and have learned 
to be taken from my occupations without regret. This is 
really one step onward. I used to like to accomplish cer- 
tain duties each day ; I have learned to give up myself 
and my time according to the precept which hangs over 
James’ study-table, ‘ Whatsoever He saith unto you, doit.’ 
I listen for His will more than I did. I am thankful, too, 
to Him who has spared those whom I love. There were 
lessons taught by those who felt that each hour lost by 
illness was so much money lost — lessons taught by the 
love and tenderness that we saw amid repulsive surround- 
ings, and — but I will not go over some of the scenes. The 
world will never be quite so beautiful to me again. James 
reminded me of the exquisite flowers that rise in beauty 
from unsightly soil — yes, that is true. 

“ But what I have best learned is of my husband. His 
mental and his moral strength was everywhere shown in 
the strange power he had over all ; they all yielded to 
him. Amid all his anxiety, he was never impatient ; then 
he always watched my coming and going, trying to save 
me from fatigue. ... I must go. May has sent for 
me to come to Aunt Alice. Ellie is ill.” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


PHEBE JONES. 

After this last page in the journal Kate prepared hastily, 
telling Sarah to explain to Mr. Thornton that she might 
be detained all night, and he was not to be anxious nor to 
come unless she sent for him. “ He will be tired, you 
know, Sarah,” she said. 

“ Yes, ’urn,” returned Sarah, “ I’ll see as he ain’t worried, 
though I don’t know of no power that will keep ’im in 
when you are out.” 

“ Try your best,” returned Kate, with a smile, as she 
went out upon the snow-covered path. The walk to 
Waterside was long, but she enjoyed the sharp crisp air, 
and thoroughly protected by furs, she defied the cold. On 
her way she was stopped by a boy. “Is Mr. Thornton to 
hum ? ” he asked. 

“ No, he has gone to the city, and will not return till 
the last train.” 

“ Wall, that’s bad, fur father got a message from Mrs. 
Joy, who lives close to Phebe Jones, saying as how Phebe 
was dyin’, and wants to see Mr. Thornton pertickler. 
She ain’t so dredful poor, but no one lives on the hill but 
Mrs. Joy, and she’s poor enuf. The boy that carts down 
wood told father, an’ he says there ain’t no time to lose, 
’cause she can’t live till mornin’, and must see the parsin.” 

“ I will send someone up,” said Mrs. Thornton. It was 
past three o’clock, and felt like snow ; she walked as fast 
as possible, trying to think of someone to go. When she 
H 


210 


JIM THE PARS OH. 


reached Waterside, the children were out, Mrs. Ray was 
asleep, and May watched beside Ellie, who was better. 
May put her finger to her lips as Kate entered. There 
was no one to consult. She went over to Mrs. Herndon ; 
she and Norah were out. There was nothing to be done 
but to go herself, if John could take her in the sleigh. 

“ Sartin, I’ll go,” said he ; “’tain’t no slouch work climbin’ 
the mounting best o’ times ; and thar’s snow in the aar. 
Like ’nuff we’ll be ketched ; but I’m your man.” 

“Mr. Thornton will not be home till eleven o’clock,” 
said Kate ; “ he could not drive up then.” 

“ I see. Well, we’ll try it. It will be a tejus job, with 
the snow a-drivin’ in our faces, as it will be, sure. Better 
come right along; bring all you’ll want to eat — something 
real filliri — ’tain’t much provender grows ’round Phebe’s.” 

“ I’ll be ready in ten minutes,” replied Kate. She ran 
back, and May met her in the hall. A few words explained 
the situation, and her wish to save her husband from the 
fatigue. 

“ It is ten miles, and bitterly cold,” said May. 

“ The colder it is, and the farther it is, the more important 
it is to prevent James from going — particularly after being- 
in the heated cars. But I have no time to talk. I must 
rob the pantry, and write a note to James.” 

May looked aghast, then quietly said : “ I will go with 
you, Kate.” 

Her sister was too much comforted by this to refuse. 
They placed Jane beside Ellie, told her there was a note 
for Mr. Thornton on the parlor table, explaining every- 
thing, then hastily filling a basket and putting on all the 
available coverings, they packed themselves in the sleigh. 

Presently the snow began to fall. 

“ I knowed it wud,” said John ; “ it was a-dancin’ and a- 
prancin’ in the aar. Get up, old bones.” A slight re- 
minder of a whip started the horses. 


JIM THE PARSON \ 


211 


“ Sally ain’t noways fond o’ snow; I dunno as Tom 
keers.” And John managed their heads as he would the 
helm of a vessel. 

“ They’ll miss the team,” he continued, “ and Mrs. 
Herndon will be sure to go to the cottage, so don’t be a 
worryin’ about nothin’. If anybody kin git thar we kin.” 

“ I’m sure of that, John, but it is very cold.” And Kate 
turned her back to the wind. 

“Kate,” observed May, from the depths of a buffalo 
robe, “ I think this is a scrape.” 

“ It is not precisely a frolic,” returned her sister ; “your 
coming was pure good fortune to me.” 

“As if I could have done anything else! Jim would 
have lost faith in me.” 

“Gee up! — look out, Tom !” and a lurch nearly upset 
them. “ The snow is deeper up here ; I can’t see the 
stones — hold hard ! ” and they pitched over another. “ All 
safe now ; here we begin the mounting ; pull away, Tom ! 
— get along, Sal ! ” 

“Kate” — from deeps below — “I hope Jim will not 
know where we have gone.” 

“ I was serenely hoping he would,” said his wife. 

“ ‘Where ignorance is bliss’ ‘The proverb is some- 

thing musty.’ Where did you put the note?” returned 
May. 

“ On the exact centre of the parlor table.” 

If Mrs. Thornton had seen the servant at that moment 
set the lamp, before she lighted it, exactly upon the note, 
her mind would have been less at ease. 

“I’m doing my duty,” she said, holding up her muff to 
screen her face, which was so stiffened she could hardly 
speak. 

“No, you are doing Jim’s ; /am doing mine — I’m sure 
of that.” 

“ But, May, Jim’s duty and mine are the same.” 


212 


JIM I HE PARSON. 


“ No,” said May. “Jim might like a furious storm in 
which to do his work — there is a pleasant flavor of martyr- 
dom about it — but I doubt if he would choose it for you.” 

“ I am thankful it is I, in this sleigh, and not James,” 
said Kate, with decision. “ By the by, what is the rest of 
that proverb ? ” 

“Where ignorance is ” 

“No, no, I mean what Hamlet says — ‘ While the grass 
grows ’ — it is there the words 1 the proverb is something 
musty ’ come in. 

Jim once asked an old Dane named Paulus — a porter 
— if he ever heard a proverb beginning in that way. His 
answer was remarkable. ‘ In my countree,’ he said, < there 
is a proverb, “while the grass grows the cow dies.” * That 
settled it ; but really, Kate, I am unequal to literary re- 
searches with the mercury utterly below discovery. Thank 
you, however, for your effort to raise my spirits.” 

Kate laughed as responsively as she could under the 
difficulties, letting the conversation drop for the present. 

“ Wall, I say, now, we’ve come a good piece. We ain’t 
got no more level road ; sleighin’ up a mounting ain’t no 
easy work for driver or for druv,” and John sighed from 
the very nails of his boots. 

“Oh, John!” exclaimed Mrs. Thornton, “I forgot to 
tell you to smoke.” 

“Thank ye ! thank ye kindly, ladies ; I was a-longin’ fur 
my pipe. I never spares no money on my terbacker ; 
maybe you’ll like it.” 

The pipe did not prove offensive, and the air was so cold 
that efforts at conversation were not resumed. They slow- 
ly ascended the “ mounting.” 

“ Som’eres here,” said John, “ thar ought to be a bars — 
thar ain’t no gate to Phebe’s. I’ll — ha! hum! I can’t see 
a — hum ! — thing ! ” and John was nearly betrayed into un- 
seemly language. 


JIM THE PARS OH 


213 


The air was so thick with snow that it was impossible 
to see ; but the faithful horses turned at the right place. 

“ Ah ! you’re the stock team ; they knows straight as a 
fish-hook,” and the dim outline of a house appeared in 
the midst of a waste of snow. 

“ Here we air. Dunno as our troubles is over, or jest 
begun,” said John, encouragingly, as he stopped the horses 
and jumped down into the snow. 

“ Don’t git out till I make a path ” — for the accomplish- 
ment of which he kicked furiously, right and left ; then, 
lighting his lantern, disappeared in an open door. The 
occupants of the sleigh vainly tried to see something. 

“ Oh ! I wish it never would be dark,” said Kate ; “ even 
that lantern is a comfort.” 

John was kicking his path in order again. 

“You’ll hev to git eout here,” he said ; “there ain’t no 
fire, and the snow is blew all inter the wash’us. Come in ; 
I’ll find wood.” 

“Did you see Phebe ?” asked May. 

“Land sakes, no ! shell keep this weather; wait till I 
makey^ comfetible.” 

“ May ! how dreadful ! ” 

But May was plunging into the snow, striving to follow 
John’s footsteps, which the wind obliterated as fast as he 
made them. Kate struggled after her. They entered 
through the snow-bank in the wash-house ; fortunately, 
the kitchen door was closed. They opened it by the dim 
light of John’s lantern, and felt a slightly warmer atmos- 
phere. There were a few embers on the hearth, but no 
fire. John followed with wood, and soon prepared it ; 
the wood was wet, and uncommonly unwilling to burn. 

“ Ef it ’ad been a house afire, thar’d ’ave been no stop- 
pin’ it,” said John, sententiously. 

“ Let me blow it,” said May, taking the bellows. 

“All right,” said John, “ I’ll see to the critters,” his phi- 


214 


JIM THE PARSOJV. 


losophy telling him that the ladies would be sooner warm 
if they worked at the fire themselves. He took the lan- 
tern, and save an occasional spire of flame, the darkness 
was total. Suddenly above the roaring of the storm and 
the creaking of the boards a fearful groan resounded 
through the house. Kate was past speaking ; she trembled 
in every limb, and May crouched down beside her, with 
teeth chattering, as she tried to say : 

“ It’s Phebe, of course, and shows she is alive. ” 

“ I never heard anything so horrible. Oh, May ! do 
blow the fire ; if she groans again, while it is so dark, I 
shall scream.” 

Fortunately, John’s cheery voice, talking to his horses, 
was the next sound ; he was bringing them into the wash- 
house, and the stamping and clatter was tremendous ; he 
opened the door, which, with the lantern, restored the 
courage of the terrified girls. 

“ Thar warn’t no barn,” he explained, “ so I hed to 
bring ’em in here. Seems to me it’s kinder pleasant to 
hear 'em.” 

“ It’s perfectly delightf ul ,” said Kate — a remark at which 
she afterward laughed. 

“ Ain't had much success with your fire” — and John, 
without ceremony, broke up two chairs and put the pieces 
under the wet wood. A bright flame was the result, and 
the fainting hearts took courage. They tried to warm 
themselves, while John returned to the horses, who, with 
the wonderful common-sense accorded to them, were quite 
contented with their new quarters, taking their oats as 
composedly out of the sink as if they had always done so. 

John had his hands full. “ Sich a fix,” he soliloquized 
• — “ it’s worse nor a piknik.” 

Another deep groan from Phebe roused Kate from her 
seat on the hearth. 

“ Can you find me a candle, John ?” 


JIM THE PARS OH. 


215 


“ Wait a minit,” he said. “ I’ll skeer up Phebe fust. I 
knows her ; and I’ll tell her you’ve come.” 

It was a welcome proposition on John’s part. 

“ How lovely he is,” said Kate, as they heard him stum- 
bling about with the lantern ; but she could not imagine 
what made M ay laugh. 

“ Hallo, Phebe,” he called. “ Hallo ! where be you ? 
We’ve come to call. Speak to a feller, can’t you ? ” 

“May, I agree with you — this is a scrape,” whispered 
Kate. “ Listen ! ” 

He seemed to go up-stairs, Phebe not being found on 
the first floor. As John had no idea of lowering his voice 
for the invalid, they heard his comforting words. 

“Wall, I never! You air bad off. Perk up now; I’ve 
brought our ladies to see you.” 

A low murmur was heard. 

“Wall ! ’tis bad, an’ no mistake. Whar’s your candle? 
Don’t wonder you felt dismal — thar, that’s cheerful. You 
want a fire, don’t you ? I’ll hev one in a minit. No, Mr. 
Thornton ain’t here — it’s his wife and sister” — and John 
stumbled down again. 

“ She’s most gone,” he said. “ You jes’ go up an’ talk to 
her ; thar ain’t no time to lose. Dunno as you want any 
to lose,” and John laughed at his joke, as he filled his 
arms with wood for her fire. “ I’ll see to supper,” he said, 
“ eatin’ is warmin’.” 

“ I’ll go up, May,” said Kate, gathering together her 
nervous forces — “ and you will find something in the bas- 
ket ; bring up whatever is best for her.” 

She followed the gleam of the candle, and soon stood 
beside the dying woman. 

She was comfortably covered, and had not been long 
alone, or without fire. A neighbor had been with her in 
the morning, but went to her children just before the 
storm. 


216 


JIM THE PARSON. 


“ I am sorry to find you so ill,” began Kate. 

“Water,” was the answer. Kate found some, and rais- 
ing Phebe’s head, she drank it. 

“ I can speak better now. I have much to say. Are 
you sent by James Thornton ? ” 

“ I am iiis wife ; he was not at home, so I came ; and 
his sister is with me.” 

“ Little May ? ” 

“Yes,” returned Kate, much surprised. 

“ Call her.” 

“ She will come in a few minutes — she is making some 
tea for you. John will make the fire now.” 

The woman was silent. May came up with the tea. 
John made the fire, and found and lighted a lamp. The 
situation was improved. Phebe was revived by the tea, 
and began again : 

“Are you James Thornton’s sister?” 

“ I am,” said May. “ What do you wish to tell me ? ” 

“ Listen ; I cannot speak much. I kept a small inn in 
Liverpool. Your father came there with his wife and two 
children — he was on his way to America. He was ill. I 
stole a small bag — it contained his money and his papers, 
with directions how to go to his father’s house. I could 
not return the papers without being suspected. He died 
the next day. I know it killed him. He would not have 
lived long anyway.” 

“ Stop and rest,” said May, giving her more tea. 

“ Don’t you hate me ? ” asked Phebe. 

“No, indeed. It is all past now; but I would like to 
hear all you can tell me.” 

“ It’s a short story. I was sorry after he died, but I 
needed the money. I had hard work to keep body and 
soul together. I helped your mother to sell her clothes ; 
she had fine clothes, but they were old ; more drink, cold 
— I’m burning up inside.” 


JIM THE PARS OH. 217 

They did what they could for her, arid she continued 
her story : 

“ I sold the clothes for nearly enough to pay your pas- 
sages ; I made up the rest from the stolen money. I 
thought you would be rich enough in America, and that 
things were not even. I was so wretched ! I saw you on 
the vessel, and shuddered when your mother thanked me. 
The money did me no good. I never had another peace- 
ful day. I used to see you starving in my dreams ; in my 
sleep I never thought of your rich friends/' 

“ I am very sorry for you,” said May. 

“You don’t expect me to believe that. You ought to 
want to kill me. After two years I lost everything. I 
came to America, but never could find your mother. I 
tried to find the place that the papers spoke of, but could 
not understand them. I called myself Phebe Jones. My 
name is Howson. I went out to service. The people here 
pay well. I laid up money, then bought this place two 
years ago, because I heard a James Thornton was preach- 
ing at Brighton. I went to hear him : his father stood be- 
fore me. I thought he knew me, and hurried home. I 
did not dare to think about religion till I was ready to 
confess my sin.” 

She turned deadly pale ; they gave her restoratives, 
which she had difficulty in swallowing. 

“ Do not try to speak again till you are rested,” said 
Kate. “ Now that you have confessed, will you not think 
about what you call religion, and ask forgiveness for your 
sins.” 

“ Have none but that one,” she whispered. 

“We all sin,” said Mrs. Thornton. 

“ Never — did — any — harm — but that. Paid regular — - 
did duty — stayed by husband — till — black and blue.” 

John came up then, and said he would sit by Phebe 
while they went down to eat something. 


218 


JIM THE PARSON. 


“ Go,” said Phebe ; “ I will rest.” 

They went to the kitchen, where the roaring of the im- 
mense fire overcame the noise of the outside tempest ; the 
kettle was boiling, coffee, bread and butter, and a warmed- 
up chicken on the table. The horses whinnied cheerfully 
as they heard the voices. 

u How perfectly delightful!” said Kate, as she went 
first to pat the horses. 

“ Better than John ?” asked May. 

They indulged in a ghost of a laugh, and were much 
benefited and refreshed by John’s skill in cooking. They 
talked awhile about Phebe’s revelations, then went to her 
again, while John took his turn at the table. 

The night passed at her bedside ; several times they 
thought she was gone, but she struggled back to life 
again, with a longing that she might feel surer of her 
claims to future peace. They were very faithful to the 
poor woman. Kate succeeded in convincing her that each 
moral being is responsible for the performance of two sets 
of duties, one to God and one to man, and that no general 
fulfilment of the duty to our fellow-creatures fulfils our 
positive duty to God. Phebe querulously asked : 

“What haven’t I done, I’d like to know 7 ?” 

Kate replied in the simple words : “ There are two com- 
mandments ; have you kept them both ? ‘ Thou shalt love 

the Lord thy God, with all thy heart, with all thy soul, 
with all thy mind ; and thy neighbor as thyself.’ ” 

Phebe was quiet a long time after this ; at last they 
heard her sobbing; then beside the dying bed, and with 
the deep bass of the raging storm, Kate’s superb voice rose 
above all other sounds : 

11 Just as I am, Thy love unknown 
Has broken every barrier down, 

Now to be Thine, yea, Thine alone, 

O Lamb of God, I come.’’ 


JIM THE PA RS ON. 


219 


“ 4 Thy love unknown,’ ” whispered Phebe. “I thought 
the Lord was hard on me ; Mrs. Montgomerie said he 
died for such as I, but I tried to forget it. I know now ; 
it was his love unknown.” 

“ ‘Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be 
saved, ’ ” repeated Kate. 

44 That means, know what He did.” 

“ If a physician prepares medicine, and says, 4 This will 
cure you,’ what does he mean ? ” 

“To take it,” she replied. 

44 When the Lord says He will save you if you believe, 
does He only mean to know that He died for you ?” 

“ Oh ! you press me hard. Sing.” 

Together they sung verse after verse : 

‘ ‘ Rock of Ages, cleft for me, 

Let me hide myself in Thee.” 

With one mighty effort, Phebe raised herself in bed, 
and in a deep, sepulchral voice joined in the closing 
words : 

“ When I rise to worlds unknown, 

And behold Thee on Thy throne. 

Rock of Ages, cleft for me, 

Let me hide myself in Thee.” 

John left his bed of buffalo robes by the fire and came 
up. Phebe fell back ; she was dead, and on her coun- 
tenance was peace. 

The storm still raged ; daylight struggled with the 
clouds. The snow was deep around them — desolation had 
crushed all nature’s gladness ; but they had gained that 
for which they came, and as May watched beside Kate she 
was thankful for the prompt decision that had brought 
them there. The words came to her : 

** Esteeming sorrow — whose employ 
Is to develop, not destroy — 

Far better than a barren joy.” 


CHAPTER XXV. 


THE SEARCH. 

Mr. Thornton went directly from the depot to Water- 
side, to see about Ellie ; she was better, and Mrs. Ray was 
beside her. After a few words about the child, he asked 
if his wife had been there. 

“ Oh, yes,” she said ; “ there is a note somewhere for 
you. Stop, I will tell you : Kate came while I was asleep, 
and when I woke Jane said that she and May, who was 
here, had taken blankets and food, and gone with John 
Brace in the large sleigh, and that Mrs. Thornton had 
left a note on the parlor table for you.” 

“I cannot find it!” exclaimed Mr. Thornton, who 
reached the parlor before Mrs. Ray finished. She ran 
down to assist in the search, but it availed nothing. She 
even raised the lamp, but the treacherous note had clung 
to the bottom of it, as if determined on secrecy. 

“ Mrs. Herndon came in,” said Mrs. Ray, hoping to give 
comfort, “ and said that John took a bag of oats with him ; 
but she was not at home when he went.” 

“ How can I find out where they are ? Kate may want 
me to join them.” 

“Perhaps they are home again — no, May would have 
returned here. It must be some case of sudden illness. 
Oh ! where is that note ? Stop at the Herndons, and see 
if John has got back.” 

But Mr. Thornton was in his sleigh, and the words fol- 
lowed him through the snow-storm. 


JIM THE PARSON. 


221 


Mrs. Herndon put her head out of the window at his call. 

“ No, I don’t know a thing about ’em. John took oats, 
and he’s pretty safe. I don’t believe he’ll upset ’em. 
There’s a sharp turn ’long near the hotel, but I don’t be- 
lieve any harm’s come to ’em.” 

After this encouragement, Mr. Thornton drove home. 
Sarah was watching ; she heard him say : 

“ Give the horse feed, Richard, and have him back as 
soon as you can.” 

“Now you’re worryin’ about Miss Kate ; she’s went to 
Waterside, and left word you warn’t to follow under no 
consideration and Kate’s message lost nothing in repe- 
tition. 

“ I have been there,” he replied, accepting gladly the 
offered coffee and refreshments. “ She and Miss May 
have gone in a sleigh to see some poor person ; I am going 
to them.” 

“Well, that is the craziest idea! As if they wouldn’t be 
glad enough to come home when they get through ! ” and 
Sarah went off to see about Richard’s storm-coat, all the 
time expressing her general disgust with the way poor 
people had taken to “kicking up such a mess ; all crea- 
tion can’t cure ’em and feed ’em ! ” she exclaimed, recall- 
ing with a sigh the comfortable and well-behaved poor of 
the town of D . 

As Richard and his master faced the pitiless storm, the 
good sexton proposed Sarah Duffy : “ She’ll know if any 
one is ill,” he said. 

The brave horse went off as if conscious of a new emer- 
gency, and Sarah’s mansion was soon reached. The house 
was dark, but Mr. Thornton pounded at the door, in a 
way that showed him careless of alarming the much per- 
secuted maiden. A window flew up, the shutters burst 
open — one of them came down with a crash, and just 
failed of killing the regardless intruder. 


222 


JIM THE PARSON. 


“ Bless us an’ save us ! My sakes alive ! What under 
the canopy’s the matter now?” ejaculated Miss Duffy. 

“ Is Mrs. Thornton here ?” was the only question he 
could think of, between the descent of the snow and the 
shutter. 

“ For the land’s sake ! Have you lost her ? ” came from 
above. 

“ No, she has gone to see some sick person. The note 
she left has been lost. Do you know who is ill or dying ? ” 
he shouted, as the wind threatened the life of the other 
shutter. 

Miss Duffy would “ stand no more such foolin’,” so she 
held it with a strong hand, as she screamed back again : 
“1 don’t know a livin’ creetur who’s dyin’ now. Like 
enough she’s safe somewhere.” 

The storm precluded pursuing the conversation for 
pleasure, so Mr. Thornton shouted : “Shall Richard bring 
the shutter up ? ” 

“ No, ’tain’t no matter. It’s been actin’ like one pos- 
sessed all winter, and I jest hope it’s satisfied now.” 

The window banged down, and the good woman went 
back to bed, soliloquizing : “ I believe some folks like to 
go round wakin’ other folks up. It’s real discouraging to 
be bounced out of one’s first nap. I’m half froze, too. 
Law ! Mrs. Thornton ’ill come back. What a row he made, 
to be sure.” 

“ Now try the hotel,” said Mr. Thornton. 

The sleepy porter knew nothing of any sick family; 
he saw John Brace drive by in his sleigh about four 
o’clock. 

“ In which direction?” 

“Up north,” was the reply. 

As the road branched three times in the next mile it was 
useless to follow the sleigh. 

“ Drive to Brightside next,” said Mr. Thornton. 


JIM THE PAR SOM. 


223 


“ It's past twelve o'clock ; hadn't you better give over, 
Master Jeems ? ” said Richard. 

“Mrs. Thornton may be expecting me ; I will ask ad- 
vice, if Mr. Montgomerie is up." 

A bright light gleamed from the library window of 
Brightside. 

“ My dear friend, what is the matter?" exclaimed Mr. 
Montgomerie, as he opened the door on the pale face of 
Mr. Thornton. “ I knew the bells ; what can I do ? " 

The case was soon stated, and his friend’s cool judgment 
helped his bewildered pastor. 

“Undoubtedly Mrs. Thornton has had a sudden sum- 
mons. She made careful arrangements. May has gone 
with her. John is a host in himself — he has two strong 
horses and a good sleigh. They have taken provisions and 
oats for the horses ; the lost note must have been to tell 
you not to come. Mrs. Thornton wished to save you a 
long drive. Do not disappoint her by exhausting your- 
self. I am sure I am right." 

Mr. Thornton in his anxiety had lost the power of judg- 
ment, but tried to accept this solution. 

“ I will go home with you," said his friend ; “ I will not 
leave you until all is right again.” 

Sarah was greatly relieved at their return, for it was a 
new anxiety to have “ all the family careering round in 
the awfulest snow-storm ever sent on this wicked earth, 
like as if heaven and earth is coming together ; " and she 
prepared the coffee with new alacrity, with the comfort of 
having some of them once more inside. Mr. Thornton was 
induced to try to sleep, and Mr. Montgomerie managed to 
obtain a private interview with Richard, in which he told 
him to send early to Waterside, as possibly the missing 
note might have been found. 

The servant found it when she trimmed the lamp in the 
morning, and by the time they had finished breakfast Mr. 


224 JIM THE PARSON. 

Thornton knew where his wife and sister had passed the 
night. 

On the mountain John Brace looked out at dawn upon a 
hopeless scene. The fresh snow was more than a foot 
deep, and had drifted in huge masses. It still snowed, 
though the wind came now only in fitful gusts. 

“ One dead woman an’ two live ones, two horses an’ me ; 
nothin’ plenty but snow, an’ that’s as thick as blackberries. 
Dunno as ever I was in sich a fix before ! I can’t leave 
’em — they’d be skeered out of their wits : an’ we’ll all be 
starved to death if somebody don’t come. ’Tain’t alto- 
gether jes’ as I like it.” 

As John surveyed the situation, a curl of smoke rose in 
the air. He had forgotten there was one other house on 
the bill. He patted the horses, closed the wash-house 
door after him, and fought his way across the field to Mrs. 
Joy’s house. She hailed his coming with : 

“ Why, John Brace ! you don’t say it’s you ? I heard 
the bells last night, and saw the light in Phebe’s window, 
so I was easy about her ; did she get through ?” 

“ She’s dead,” said John; “an’ I’ve got Mrs. an’ Miss 
Thornton to pervide for, an’ sich an uneven snow I never 
did see. Dunno as we will get to hum in a week.” 

“ Law ! ” said Mrs. Joy, “ I want to know ? ” 

“ S’pose I fetch the ladies over here, an’ you an’ I ’tend 
to Phebe ; what d’ye say?” 

“ Sure ! the children have had their breakfast. I can 
go as well as not. Joy won’t be home till Saturday, so I’ll 
do all I can.” 

She put her shawl over her head, and with some diffi- 
culty reached Phebe’s. 

“ Good land ! have you got the horses in here ? ” ex- 
claimed Mrs. Joy, stamping off the snow. 

“ Guess I wouldn’t have any horses if I’d have left ’em 


JIM THE PARSON. 


225 


DUtside. Come in the kitchen. Here's Mrs. Joy, Miss 
May ; she’ll git things straight for you." 

May shook hands, and felt as if she would like to kiss 
her, so welcome was the sight. 

“ Mrs. Thornton is asleep on the sofa — she fainted after 
?hebe died ; and I’m trying to get the kettle to boil — we 
must have some breakfast," she said. 

Mrs. Joy went to work with most encouraging vigor, 
and breakfast was soon ready. Kate came out looking 
weary and worn beyond expression. 

“ Mrs. Joy has come to help us," said May. 

“ We are most thankful for help," replied Kate ; “ it was 
a very hard night for us both, and the prospect to-day is 
not bright." 

“Well, I should say not," said Mrs. Joy, looking with 
interest at the clergyman’s wife. “ We would have sent for 
Mr. Sayres down to Weston, but nothing would content 
Phebe but Mr. Thornton ; she said she knew his people in 
England." 

“Mr. Thornton was in New York, that is why we came ; 
I am glad we were here." 

“ Don’t worry no more — I’ll do for her now,’’ said the 
kind-hearted woman, who had already taken care of her 
for several weeks. 

“What a perfectly lovely woman ! ” said Kate. 

At this May laughed. 

“You have been very fortunate on this excursion, Kate," 
she said ; but Kate was too tired to understand ; she gazed 
wearily out of the window. 

“Are you expecting Jim ?’’ 

“Not consciously, only imagining how glad I would be 
to see him." 

“ If he can get here, he will come. John says the only 
way to return is to drive to Weston and take the cars from 
there. Jim can come that way." 

*5 


226 


JIM THE PARSON . 


“ What is the matter with our road ? ” 

“ It is probably impassable ; there are deep ditches and 
tremendous drifts ; the wind was that side of the hill 
Look at that mound ; John turned the sleigh against z 
wood-pile, and the snow is four feet deep over it.” 

“ Sleigh-bells,” exclaimed John, putting his head in a: 
the door, while the horses began to neigh. “ The storm is 
slackin' down ; they're cornin’ from Weston.” 

Slowly they came— sometimes they stopped ; at last the 
horses’ heads were seen, then the sleigh drove up. 

In a moment Kate was in her husband’s arms, and May 
welcoming Mr. Montgomerie, and the Rev. Mr. Sayres, 
from Weston. 

Explanations were made, and Mr. Thornton went to talk 
with Mrs. Joy. She told him all she knew about Phebe, 
and gave him a paper which she said was Phebe’s will, wit- 
nessed by her and her husband the previous week. 

The only words in it were : 

“ All I own I leave to James and May Thornton. 

“ Phebe (Jones) Howson.” 

Mr. Thornton was rather amazed ; but as there was no 
one to dispute her wishes, he was obliged to accept what- 
ever her property might prove to be. 

He made a hasty survey of her effects, and took posses- 
sion of a box of papers directed to him ; then, being ex- 
ceedingly anxious to get his wife and sister home, he en- 
gaged Mrs. Joy to take charge of the house until the roads 
would permit him to come up again. Meanwhile, Mr. 
Sayres would attend to the funeral ; it was explained to him 
that Mr. Thornton had been sent for because Phebe knew 
his father and mother in England. 

“ In fact,” said Mr. Thornton, “ I remember stopping at 
the inn she kept in Liverpool, and that the death of my 
father took place there.” 

Kate whispered enough of Phebe's revelations to confine 


JIM THE PARSON, 


227 


his reminiscences to this. Mr. Sayres was satisfied, and all 
arrangements concluded, so that the Thornton family were 
released. 

John offered to wait for Mr. Sayres ; Mr. Montgomerie 
returned with the Thorntons. It was a dangerous drive, 
but safely accomplished in time for the train to Brighton, 
which soon landed them at the station. 

May, whose strength seemed to be equal to all demands 
upon it, went directly to Waterside, having told her 
brother more particulars about Phebe, though there was 
not time for the whole story. 

When they reached the parsonage, Kate made a great 
effort to go to her room, where Sarah, without questions, 
helped her to undress, and persuaded her to lie down. The 
comfort and rest were grateful to her, and the loving smile 
with which she turned to her husband, and the wonderful 
brilliancy of her eyes, relieved the load of anxiety he had 
borne for so many hours. 

Sarah had to ask Mr. Montgomerie where the missing 
ones were found, and about the hard ride and anxious 
night which they had. 

“Mrs. Thornton will be ill, mark my words,” said Sarah. 
“You see, it’s all been too much for her. Besides the 
nursing and broken nights, she’s ever been anxious about 
Master Jeems, and I tell you, Mr. Montgomerie, it’s worry 
that breaks women down. It’s safe to scrub all day, but 
not to worry half a one. She was that miserable after the 
Morton fuss ! For my part, I don't see that there’s any 
call to take charge of all creation. She’ll have a low 
fever, mark my words.” 

Mr. Montgomerie refused to take this dreary view of 
the case, but went to Burnside to confer with his mother, 
who did not lose a moment in reaching the parsonage, and 
in sending for May. Her son asked why she was so 
alarmed. 


228 


JIM THE PARSON. 


“ Because I know Kate ; her emotional nature will not 
bear being wound up to such a pitch. She is like a good 
clock, and will bear a good deal ; but when the main- 
spring is wound too tight, she can go no longer.” 

As they entered the house, strange laughter met their 
ears. Kate was in raving delirium. 

It was agonizing to those who so dearly loved her. Her 
delirious laughter was terrible, but it was worse to hear of 
the horrible sights and sounds that passed through her 
mind ; she would go over the night at Morton’s, would 
climb the hill to Phebe’s, would tell of the dying woman 
and the horrors of the dark house, and nearly break her 
husband’s heart by saying : 

“ If I can only save him, and keep him from coming.” 

Mrs. Montgomerie and May were fertile in expedients 
for relief. The room was kept brilliantly lighted, and this 
seemed to comfort her. Then May tried music, and sung 
by the hour ; while she sung Kate was quiet. If her hus- 
band sung, she burst into tears — “ There, he has come 
after all, and he is so tired but all the while she held 
his hand. He never left her, though the veins stood in 
knots on his broad, fair forehead, and his whole counte- 
nance was convulsed with suffering. 

By degrees the overwrought brain became composed ; 
then the exhaustion and stillness were almost as hard to 
bear as the excited condition. For hours even the breath- 
ing was scarcely perceptible. Only for his Sunday duties 
was her husband away from her. Everyone spared him — 
one of his parishioners even deferred his marriage, and all 
were ready to do whatever was possible. 

Weeks passed ; then one day Kate opened her eyes with 
her own beautiful light in them, and put out her hand to 
her husband. He was afraid to speak, but fell on his 
knees with a fervent “ I thank thee, my Father.” 

“ I have had a dreadful dream,” she said ; “ part of the 


JIM THE PARSON. 


229 


time angels sung to me ; then they floated away, and hor- 
rors surrounded me. It is all over now. How weak I am ; 
I do not generally wake like this.” 

“ My darling, your dream has been illness. It is nearly 
a month since it began.” 

“You must be mistaken, dear; we came down the 
mountain, and — ask May.” 

“ It is nearly a month ago, Kate. See, it is spring-time 
now ; listen to the birds.” 

“ I do not understand,” she said, wearily, closing her 
eyes again in healthy, dreamless sleep. 

When she again woke, her mind was clear, and only the 
body weak. 

Her recovery was rapid ; soon she could sit up and feel 
anxious in her turn for those who had watched her. 

“Sister dear,” she said to May, “you are tired and 
grave.” 

“ I will soon be rested, Kate. Life has come to me this 
winter in a new phase. I am grave, and feel old.” 

“You need change. How would you like to go to Cuba 
with Aunt Alice ? ” 

“ I would rather stay here ; it is late for Cuba. Aunt 
Alice goes for Ellie, you know.” 

“The sunbeam shall not fade from the eyes of little 
May. I will soon be down again, and everything shall 
be cheerful,” said Kate. 

May smiled, and said : “ It shall not fade.” 

That afternoon Mr. Thornton was sitting beside his 
wife, gazing in her dear eyes, and watching the fitful color 
as she spoke. 

“What troubles May, dear? She is often in deep 
thought and restless.” 

“Are you not mistaken, Kate? She has done little 
this winter but care for the sick ; no wonder she is grave. 
Nothing can trouble her now you are well.” 


230 


JIM THE PARSON. 


Kate laughed at this. 

“She is coming now,” she said; “take her to walk; 
perhaps she will tell you.” 

Jim and little May went off arm-in-arm. Kate followed 
with her eyes as far as she could see. On the walk May 
confided to Jim her trouble. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


may's trouble. 

“ I have opened the box of papers left by Phebe How- 
son," said Mr. Thornton to his sister ; “ there are a few 
letters, and the certificate of our parents’ marriage. The 
letters explain that mother’s father was a clergyman.” 

“ That’s the reason I always wanted to preach — two 
clerical grandfathers were too much for you alone,” laughed 
May. 

“ You preach daily, little sister, and your text is Love .” 

“ Go on with the papers, Jim ; my daily life is the effect 
of circumstances.” 

Jim, thus admonished, continued his story, after which 
May exclaimed : 

“ Kate was like one inspired the night Phebe died ; she 
was cornered by the words of the Bible, and then Kate 
sang like an angel.” 

“ May,” whispered her brother, in an awe-struck voice, 
“ she is so nearly an angel it frightens me.” 

“ Such a true ministering spirit that perhaps she will be 
enough for you.” 

“ What can you mean ? ” 

“ You do not need me as once you did.” 

“ It would be hard to do without you, May.” 

“ Would you mind very much if I go away?” 

“ Go away ! Mind it ! I would feel cut in half.” 

“ That’s exactly how I felt when you were gone. I asked 
Rover how he would feel ; he wrinkled up his forehead, 


232 


JIM THE PARSON. 


and sympathized with his tongue and tail. Don’t laugh, 
Jim ; I’m very serious ! ” 

“ That don't prevent your making me laugh.” 

“ It ought to ; I’m trying to ask you if you would mind 
my being married ? ” 

“ Married ! What on earth for ? ” 

“ On account of Frank,” said May, demurely. 

“ What is the matter with Frank ? I had a jolly letter 
from him lately.” 

“ He has waited so long.” 

“ What for ? What does he want ? ” 

“Was there ever such a darling old goose! Frank 
wishes to be married — there ! ” 

“ I’m sure I don’t want to prevent him. What has that 
to do with you ? ” 

“ Oh, Jim ! Long ago Frank came to the old parsonage 
and asked me to marry him ! ” 

“ You ! Why, May, that must have been years ago. He 
has been abroad ever since we have been here.” 

“Yes — years;” and May’s eyes filled with tears. “I 
put him off till our grandparents died ; then he came for 
me, but I thought you needed me ; then came that win- 
ter ; then Kate’s illness — but ncnv ” 

“ Oh, May, my darling, have you been bearing this sep- 
aration all this time for my sake ? Why did you not tell 
me ? I had no idea you cared for Frank — he is so much 
older than you, dear — and somehow I never thought you 
would leave us.” 

“ If I had told you, Jim, you would only have had an- 
other care, and it would have been harder for me. I told 
Mrs. Montgomerie, and had hard work to keep her still ; 
you know she is not very patient with quiet continuance 
in well-doing. For such an incarnation of peace she is a 
perfect fidget if anyone has anything to bear that she con- 
siders unnecessary. I could not make her see it as I did.” 


JIM THE PARSON, 


2 33 


“ I cannot realize it, May. There is one comfort, Frank 
is the best fellow in the world — and — but I am glad that 
it is so hard to part with you, dear.” 

Then May told the whole story to her brother, and after- 
ward repeated it all to Kate. 

“ How could you have kept this a secret from us ? ” ex- 
claimed her sister. 

“ If I had not, Kate, you would have insisted that you 
did not need me.” 

Kate laughed. „ “ I don’t know what sin I might have 
been tempted to commit to make you happy, so I won’t 
waste time in pretences. Now tell me more about it; 
where has he been so many years ? ” 

“ He was sent to London by some benevolent society 
here, to examine the systems of ragged schools ; that was 
w r hen grandmother was blind. I could do nothing but 
send him off indefinitely, and beg him to forget me. He 
accepted the appointment, but not my proposal ; then he 
travelled for a long while. You know, dear, I could not 
have left you then. He knew it too, and waited — waited.” 

“Oh, May! if I had only known it I could have done 
something. Is he not ages older than you ?” 

“ Only thirteen years ; and I have grown so grave that I 
have quite reached him. He will not know for nearly two 
weeks, then two more and he will be here.” 

“ A whole month ! ” 

“Yes ; but short in comparison to the years that have 
passed since ” 

“ Tell me your plans. Will you stay and live with us ? ” 

“No, dear ; it is really time for you to try to content 
yourself with Jim.” 

“I’ll do my best,” laughed Kate ; “but how about Jim 
being content with me ? ” 

“ He will do his best too,” returned May. “ You will 
have a new bliss, and begin your honeymoon over again. 


234 


JIM THE PARS OH. 


If there was only a tower for you and him to preach ser- 
mons on to each other ? ” 

“ That’s pure envy. We had the very best time in the 
world. I am never tired of Jim’s sermons,” retorted Kate. 

“ I like them too, on Sundays ; but if Frank proposes to 
preach to me on my wedding journey, I’ll come back again. 
We will probably go abroad at once, first to Paris, where 
he has been engaged in hard work at the mission all win- 
ter ; then I suppose to Switzerland, then to the East, after 
Palestine, Egypt ; and there, Kate, you and Jim must join us.” 

“ I am glad for you, May, indeed I am, but ” and 

here Kate broke down utterly, and Mrs. Montgomerie came 
in upon two weeping sisters. 

“ What has happened ?” she exclaimed, in alarm. 

“Only — May’s going away, and Frank, and all that,” 
said Kate, trying to smile. 

“ Take care, you foolish child ; May will give it all up if 
you shed half a tear.” 

“No,” said May, “ not this time; Frank’s last letter 
convinced me of a duty to him.” 

“A duty of which I have reminded you several times, my 
dear,” returned her old friend, archly. 

“ Yes, I exonerate you from any failure to plead Frank’s 
cause, but the nearest duty loomed up the highest. What 
are you bringing out Kate’s hat for ? where is she going ? ” 

“ I met Mr. Thornton, and he promised to go to Burn- 
side after his visits, and I have come for his family. Here, 
Kate, put on your hat ; come, May. Sarah, they won’t 
want tea at home. I’ll take good care of Mrs. Thornton ; 
the drive will do her good.” 

“ Well, well ! ” said Sarah, as they drove off, “ she cer- 
tainly is the best old lady livin’ now, but my opinion is, 
it would be a savin’ of time an’ horse-flesh if they all lived 
in the same house. It would save gallavantin’ too. I’m 
glad I wasn’t born restless.” 


JIM THE PARSOiV. 


235 


Richard smiled his quiet smile, but as he rather liked 
life and animation, did not oppose Sarah’s more sedate 
views. It was just as well to avoid controversy with the 
good Sarah. 

The weeks soon passed, September’s golden light made 
hills and valleys more beautiful than even under the sum- 
mer sun, and Kate gained strength each day in the excur- 
sions and drives that were planned for her benefit. May’s 
spirits came back again, though she was a little fitful, and 
her brother suffered many a self-reproach because he was 
conscious that he wished Frank had been content to remain 
a friend only. 

One evening May declined to go with the others to one 
of the many tea-parties given in honor of Kate’s recovery. 
She passed the sunset hour in the old orchard. From a 
seat under a wide-spreading apple-tree there was a long 
view of the road to the station, half a mile distant. A 
steamer arrived that morning, but having heard nothing 
from Frank, she did not know when to expect him. She 
would rather have had an acknowledgment of her sum- 
mons before his coming, although it was in truth only an 
answer to the question in each of her lover’s letters ; just 
what her brother asked Kate so often — “ Are you ready, 
May ?” It was no shock to her maidenly dignity to say, 
“Yes, Frank, come.” But she would have liked a letter. 
Certainty, as nearly as it can be attained, is comforting 
and soothing, as we all know. Each year had added greatly 
to Frank Raymond’s mental and spiritual growth. It was 
not so much that he was thirty-five years old — “ half-way 
home,” as Willis says, “as far from childhood’s morning 
came as to the grave’s forgetful night.” But he had 
become much more a man, a grand, noble man, in his 
years of waiting. She read it in his letters. She knew 
he had never rested in his onward and upward course, 
but in her humility failed to measure what the years 


236 


JIM THE PARSON. 


of self-abnegation had done for her. She feared her light- 
heartedness, though somewhat toned down, was a sign 
of want of strength of purpose ; she forgot that though 
“leaves are light and idle, and wavering and changeable — 
they even dance — yet God has made them part of the oak.” 
Frank was grave and still when they last parted, she did 
not know it was only the repeated disappointments that 
took the smile from his heart ; her heart fell as she lifted 
him higher and higher, till she almost dreaded his coming. 
“ Am I good enough, and strong enough, and brave 
enough, to be a help-meet in such a life-work as Frank has 
chosen ? I wish I had just a word before I see him 
again ! ” were her thoughts. She did not fathom the 
mighty depths of the man’s love, he would have saved her 
even that momentary fear if he had known of it. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


HOW FRANK ACTED. 

There was a distant sound of the coming of the last 
train, the lines of gold that laid level on the earth were 
gone, the sun-god gathered his robe around him as he 
sank to rest, and darkness fell over the scene. It was of 
no use to wait there ; she went back to the house. How 
lovely she and Kate had made it ! The pillars of the 
piazza were twined with vines, flowers were blooming 
everywhere, as they only bloom for those who love them. 
The windows opened to the floor, and the light from the 
lamp, with its amber shade, lighted the piazza as well as 
the library. She heard Trask's carriage rattle past. It 
did not stop! “Then he has not come/’ she thought. 
She took up the evening paper to see if she was right 
about the steamer. Yes, there was no doubt about a 
steamer. There was no list of passengers ; perhaps she 
would have a letter. She went to the organ and began 
rather a sad strain. She heard no footsteps. Suddenly 
strong arms clasped her, and Frank’s words made her for- 
ever forget her doubts : “ Oh ! my darling, my darling ! 
It has come at last ! My May ! My little May ! My May 
bird ! All my own ! My precious May — oh ! how beauti- 
ful you are !” and then there was a long, long silence. 

How shall I tell it ? Yet I feel that the one young 
reader who has plodded through all the teachings and 
preachings of “ Jim the Parson ” deserves to know exactly 
how it was, and just what Frank and May said and did. 


238 


JIM THE PARSON. 


The old story has so many new phases that this “one 
young reader ” wants to know how it was acted in the little 
library in Jim’s parsonage, beside his grandfather’s old 
organ. So I will tell the truth, for I know all about it. 
As soon as May could speak, all she said was, “Oh! Frank, 
Frank! ’’ It was enough that Frank was come. Then, 
after a while they talked a little, but Frank had, after all, 
not grown grave nor still, and May, for certain reasons, 
found it very difficult to finish any sentence intelligibly. 
At last, in a pause, she said, with one of her merry laughs, 
“Certainly, Frank, this is a new departure, or you are 
some one else ” 

“No,’’ he interrupted, “don’t fear, I’m the same old 
Frank. This is only the result of many departures. So 
often I have heard you say, “Go, Frank ” 

“ Dear Frank,” corrected May. 

“Yes, I believe it was 4 dear Frank,’ but the ‘go’ took 
off the emphasis. So often I have heard 'go* that ‘come’ 
has fairly unsettled my reason ; I am so absurdly, so insanely 
happy I am hardly responsible.” 

May was happy, too, but being overwhelmed by Frank’s 
joy, she could not think of herself. She was only con- 
scious of feeling glad that she could be so much to him. 
He had not for an instant released her ; his arms were 
around her still. 

“Now, May, I am going to be sensible, but you are to 
stand just as you are until you give me a promise.” 

“ It won’t be hard to promise you anything,” she said. 

“ That is as it should be. Then, there being nothing to 
wait for, we can be married to-morrow.” 

That was rather unexpected, and May exclaimed, “ My 
dear Frank, that is too utterly absurd. I have made no 
preparations.” 

“ None are needed. You cannot know what my life has 
been, fettered under a heavy stone. It seemed as if it 


JIM THE PARSON. 


2 39 


would never lift ; when I realize it has gone I bound up 
into a new life. Do you understand this, May? Now I 
want to add the outward bond, to have that sanction to 
our union. This union that is forever. No death can sep- 
arate us — but circumstances in life might do so for a time. 
Only when you are my wife can I control circumstances, 
and I cannot risk a day. Think how often I have thought 
the end of my probation had come.” 

“ But, Frank, give me a little time to become accustomed 
to you before ” 

“ Stop, look at me — am I so changed ? I am browner 
and awfully old; I acknowledge that. I am thirty-five, 
and each day a day older. Years ago I told you of my 
love and of how I determined, when I first saw little May, 
Jim’s little sister, that she should be my wife. My love has 
only grown stronger. Can’t you trust me to-morrow as 
you do to-day ? ” 

May was silent. 

“ Are there any more hospital duties looming up — any 
relatives crying for your care ? ” 

“ Oh, Frank, I only have Jim and Kate. Let me wait 
and ask them what I had better do.” 

“Very well. They will be home soon, and I tell you 
plainly, May, I will stand just so with both arms around 
you till you promise. You may talk an hour to them if you 
like.” 

Now, my dear young reader, what would you have done 
about it ? May really had but one objection, and that was 
that she, the woman, saw the absurd side of the matter. 
Such a hurried wedding ! No time to let her friends know, 
no wedding-gown, no anything. Sarah might make a cake ; 
that was the only tangible form the matter took. 

“ Don’t you want to sit down, Frank ?” 

“ No, thank you, I am quite contented.” 

The clock struck nine. 


240 


JIM THE PARSON, 


“ They will be home in a few minutes, let us go and sit 
on the sofa ; do, Frank.” 

“As soon as you say ‘yes,’ little May.” 

“ But I am a big grown up May now, and, Frank, I don’t 
think you ought to insist in this way.” 

“Would there be any way easier for you, dear — then I’ll 
put my arm so ” 

“ Frank, you are perfectly ridiculous. Just one day 
more.” 

“No, not one. I am afraid. I know someone would be 
ill. I have been adding up the days since I first saw you, 
it’s fifteen years, that is more than five thousand four hun- 
dred and seventy-five days. No, I cannot give you one 
more.” 

“ You are a mathematical genius,” laughed May. 
“Must I really, Frank ?” 

“Yes, and you shall have your way ever after. Just 
let me be sure that you can never again say ‘ Go 

“ Then yes Frank.” 

At that moment Kate and Jim returned — I think May 
heard them coming — and Frank was welcomed and re- 
joiced over as if he were the prodigal son instead of the 
good boy who had waited so long and behaved so well in 
his exile from home. 

They talked far into the night, till Jim remembered that 
Kate was tired ; even then she and May talked on up-stairs, 
and Jim and Frank down-stairs, till Frank himself, lunatic 
that he was, remembered that he had no right to destroy 
the comfort of the whole family even if he had no need for 
sleep. He was up again at six o’clock, and waited two 
hours at the town clerk’s office before he could get a 
license, which was the only preparation he felt it neces- 
sary to make. They were waiting breakfast for him when 
he returned, and he had to bear a good deal of badinage 
on his rousing the town at daylight to get a marriage 


JIM THE PARSON . 


241 


\ 


license. “I have no doubt,” said May, “that by this time 
it is fully understood that I am going to run away with 
some wild foreigner, for really, by sunlight, Frank, you 
are positively alarming with your immense mustache and 
long beard.” 

Alarming or not, May found that he would not trust her 
out of his sight, and therefore he was taken into all the 
consultations about this hurried wedding. Of course, the 
three “ Sides,” as May called Burnside, Brightside, and 
Waterside rushed into the conference. Mrs. Montgom- 
erie went home to set Lucy to work, while the others took 
the first train to the city for wedding presents. 

Sarah was only told to do her best in having a supper 
for the three families and some few friends, after the cere- 
mony in the church. This was appointed for seven 
o'clock, so that the happy couple could take the nine 
o’clock train to New York. They were to have a wedding 
journey of two weeks, then two weeks at Burnside, and 
then Europe. Some of May’s young friends undertook to 
make a bower of beauty of the church, while Kate sent 
invitations to rich and poor to be present ; for Jim’s sister 
was beloved by all who knew her. 

“ It’s fortunate I have a white silk. I mean to tell the 
girls always to keep one ready, one can never know what 
may happen now that lovers become insane so easily,” said 
May. 

“Do you think my veil would do?” asked Kate; “I 
don’t suppose you happened to have a bridal outfit 
entire.” 

“ Oh, what an idiot I am ! ” exclaimed Frank, letting go 
of May’s hand for a moment, and then dragging a trunk 
from the hall into the library where they were sitting ; 
“you know I had to wait three days after your letter, May, 
before the steamer sailed, so I just bought things — here 
they are. There is a lace shawl, it will do for a veil, and a 
16 


242 JIM THE PARSON. 

diamond star for the wedding present, and a ring, and lots 
of traps.” 

“ Well, of all extravagant boys you certainly are the worst. 
What will I want with diamond stars and laces ? ” exclaimed 
May, immensely pleased, however, with the rich contents 
of the trunk. 

“ Do what you like with them, dear ; I didn’t know ex- 
actly what to bring, so I jumbled everything together, but 
I think you might wear the veil.” 

She did, and tried it on then for her own and his edifi- 
cation ; and, gainingpermission to leave him for one hour, 
he having an idea that it would take that length of time 
to make her toilette, she managed to pack her trunk for 
her journey. Her lover was utterly unreasonable, and 
entirely unmanageable. Kate was out of patience with 
him, but May only laughed. There was no help for it, 
every one would have to excuse what was omitted, and she 
could only hope to get through it creditably. 

By five o’clock Mrs. Ray and Mrs. Henry Montgomerie 
were back again laden with more than the usual bur- 
den of gifts, they having had a long list of commissions. 
Amid smiles and tears May opened box after box, learning 
in some measure how dear she had become to those 
among whom she had gone out and in, since she first came 
to Brighton. 

“ Isn’t it wonderful ? ” she whispered to Kate. 

“It’s wonderful that you can think of going away 
when you are a positive necessity to all of us and to half 
the town. Frank, I detest you ; ” and Kate ran off up- 
stairs directly into Jim’s arms, where she poured out her 
tears and her sorrow. 

“I’m thankful that I am going to take you away to- 
night,” said Frank, with decision. “ I knew how it would 
be. Only my firmness has saved me.” This was followed 
by the last exhibition of his “ firmness,” as he called his per- 


JIM THE PARSON. 


243 


sistent obstinacy, for it was time for May to dress. But — 
they were alone, you remember ; Kate and Jim were busy 
weeping on the staircase — so Frank took the opportunity 
to emphasize his words, and to prevent May from answer- 
ing ; this took fully five minutes, during which Kate par- 
tially recovered, at all events sufficiently to be ready to as- 
sist May. 

The toilettes were made in good time, Kate insisting on 
Frank not being permitted to see May till they met on the 
piazza, where he was guarded by Mrs. Montgomerie, who 
drove down with them to the church. She was to give 
May away, as the phrase is, although Frank assured them 
it was a useless ceremony, as he intended to take her, if 
necessary, at the point of the bayonet. 

The old lady, whose experiences with well-behaved and 
ill-behaved young people were extensive, succeeded in 
toning down these unexpected features in the groom’s be- 
havior ; and, although the drive to the church was merely 
nominal in length, it was long enough to subdue him, so 
that he helped both ladies from the carriage with a dig- 
nity as praiseworthy as it was unexpected. The church, 
as you know, was near the parsonage, and they intended to 
walk, but, by special request from the young people, they 
drove, finding the reason in the existence of a grand porte 
cochere formed of evergreens. This structure was built in 
a day, and was the outcome of gratitude on the part of 
Job Beers, who incited his “ jolly diggers ” to pay this trib- 
ute to the sister of their much loved “ parson.” 

Inside, the church was a mass of flowers, twined, 
wreathed, banked, and finally thrown down in heaps, for 
during the whole day baskets of bloom and glory were 
being emptied beside the workers. May’s Sunday-school 
classes brought golden-rod and purple asters in a wheel- 
barrow ! How the whole village heard of the wedding in 
that one day is still a mystery, but certain it is the entire 


244 


JIM THE PARSON, \ 


population seemed to be present. The town clerk left his 
office, the postmaster left his, the factories closed an hour 
earlier, and every possible honor was paid to the young 
girl who put aside her own happiness to care for the fever- 
stricken poor of the little town of Brighton. 

It was well that Frank Raymond was calm now, and 
self-possessed. May needed all his strength to enable 
her to bear the varied emotions of the day, with the cli- 
max of this ovation. She answered firmly all the ques- 
tions that her brother strove to ask in his usual voice, 
and both of them would have merited all praise had not 
“Jim’s” voice at last faltered. It was when the bride raised 
her eyes to have one look at the dear face that had never 
turned to her but in love. 

After the ceremony, instead of the stately procession 
to the door, they remained to receive the kindly greetings 
of their friends, and to examine and show their appre- 
ciation of the decorations, and of the love that prompted 
them. 

Does the young reader care to know any more ? Is 
not a successful wedding the end of everything? Is it 
best to tell of the supper, and of the farewells, and of 
Jim’s last whispered words ? No — I will tell no more ; I 
must wind up somewhere, and if the story has been read, 
there is no need to follow lives that have begun, con- 
tinued, and will end, in the Master’s service. 


marks the women of our households when they undertake to make their 
homes bright and cheery. Nothing deters them. Their weary work may 
be as long as the word which begins this paragraph, but they prove their 
regard for decent homes by their indefatigability. What a pity that any 
of them should add to their toil by neglecting to use Sapolio. It reduces 
the labor of cleaning and scouring at least one-half. 10c, a cake. Sold by 
all grocers. 


PHYSIC! 



Dr. A. W. Thompson, Northampton, Mass., says: “I have tested the 
Gluten Suppositories, and consider them valuable, as indeed, I expected 
from the excellence or their theory.*' 


Dr. Wm. Tod Helmuth declares the Gluten Suppositories to be M the 
best remedy for constipation W T hich I have ever prescribed.” 

‘‘As Sancho Panza said of sleep, so say I of your Gluten Suppositories : 
God bless the man who invented them! ” — E. L. Ripley, Burlington, Yt. 

“ I prescribe the Gluten Suppositories almost daily in my practice and 
am often astonished at the permanent results obtained.” — J. Montfort 
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H. RIDER HAGGARD’S NOVELS 


SHE : A HISTORY OF ADVENTURE, wmo. Paper, 
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tic side of fiction : that is, on the side of truth and permanent value. . . . He is 

already one of the foremost modern romance writers. — N. Y. World. 

It seems to me that Mr. Haggard has supplied to us in this book the complement 
of “ Dr. Jeckyl.” He has shown us what woman’s love for man really means. — The 
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One cannot too much applaud Mr. Haggard for his power in working up to a 
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philosophy is conveyed in pages that glow with fine images and charm the reader 
like the melodious verse of Swinburne. — N. Y. Times. 

One of the most peculiar, vivid, and absorbing stories we have read for a long 
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JESS. A Novel. i 2 mo. Paper, 20 cents. 

Mr. Haggard has a genius, not to say a great talent, for story-telling. . . . 

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old, old days of Le Sage’ and Cervantes. — N. Y. Mail and Express. 

This bare sketch of the story gives no conception of the beauty of the love- 
passages between Jess and Niel, or of the many fine touches interpolated by the 
author. — St. Louis Republican. 

Another feast of South African life and marvel for those who revelled in “ She.” — 
Brooklyn Eagle. 

The story has special and novel interest for the spirited reproduction of life, char- 
acter, scenes, and incidents peculiar to the Transvaal. — Boston Advertiser. 

Mr. Haggard is remarkable for his fertility of invention. . . . The story, like 

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Times. 

KINO SOUOMON’S MINES. A Novel. i 2 mo. Paper, 

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This novel has achieved a wonderful popularity. It is one of the best selling 
books of the season, and it deserves its great success. — Troy Daily Press. 

THE WITCH’S HEAD. A Novel. i 2 mo. Paper, 20 cents. 
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Published by JOHN W. LOYELL COMPANY, New York. 

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TEN MILLION DOLLARS CAPITAL 

IS NOW ENGAGED IN THE 

People’s Go-operative Supply Association. 

It is an organization of the manufacturers of many classes of 
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R. D. BLACKMORE’S NOVELS. 


Mr. Blackmore always writes like a scholar and a gentleman. — 
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His descriptions are wonderfully vivid and natural. His pages are 
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thought remind you occasionally of Fielding . — London Times. 

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fallen snow. . . . Their literary execution is admirable, and their 

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ligencer , N. Y. 

ALICE LORRAINE. A Tale of the South Downs. 
12mo, Paper, 20 cents. 

CHRISTO WELL. 12mo, Paper, 20 cents. 

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EREMA ; Or, My Father’s Sin. 12mo, Paper, 20 cents. 
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MARY ANERLEY. A Yorkshire Tale. 12mo, Paper, 20 
cents. 

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THE MAID OF SKER. 12mo, Paper, 20 cents. 

THE REMARKABLE HISTORY OF SIR THOMAS 
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JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

14 and 1 6 Vesey Street, New York. 



RECENTLY PUBLISHED. 


1 vol 12mo, illustrated^ cloth gilt, $1.50. 


SOCIAL SOLUTIONS 

( Solutions Sociales). 

By M. GODIN, 

Founder of the FamilistZre at Guise ; Prominent Leader of Industries in 
France and Belgium; Member of the National Assembly. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY 

MABIE HOWLAND. 


An admirable English translation of M. Godin’s state- 
ment of the course of study which led him to conceive the 
Social Palace at Guise, France. There is no question that 
this publication will mark an era in the growth of the 
labor question. It should serve as the manual for organ- 
ized labor in its present contest, since its teachings will as 
surely lead to the destruction of the wages system as the 
abolition movement lead to that of chattel slavery. 


JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

PUBLISHERS, 

14 and 16 Vesey Street , NEW YORK* 



SOCIALISM IN ACTION 


It is the distinguishing feature of the Labor Movement that it 
strives after the attainment of a social state for every human 
being, such as shall be the healthy stimulation of all his good 
qualities, while his bad tendencies shall wither and drop away 
from him by the impossibility of their sustenance. 

To get at this conception of the possible life of man, has re- 
quired the experience of every day and every year, since the race 
arrived at the ability to keep a record of its progress. 

The process of the seasons, the growth and ripening of the crops 
has been the lesson nature has afforded for the study of her 
methods, and this ceaseless repetition has finally awakened man to 
the conception that his own life allies him to the same law of 
development. 

This is the measure of the socialist movement of the present, and 
for those who desire to take part in its furtherance we would com- 
mend the study of SOCIAL SOLUTIONS.* 

The main purpose of this publication was to issue the transla- 
tion by Marie Howland of the first public statement by M. Godin, 
of the study and experience he has illustrated in the construction 
and organization of the FAMILISTERE. 

Though the translation of this most important demonstration of 
the new life for labor was announced when it was prepared, by one 
of the chief publishers of this country, yet being abandoned on the 
ground “the labor question was too exciting,” it remained in 
manuscript until, in the course of events, a more progressive pub- 
lisher was found. In its preparation the plan adopted was that 
of twelve parts, each of which should contain such illustrative 
material as the editor should either find or prepare. The twelve 
parts are now published and for sale. While the complete trans- 
lation of M. Godin’s work is contained in eleven of the parts, the 
twelfth part is an admirable and complete exposition of the series 
of social solutions proposed by the Credit Foncier of Sinaloa, for 
the organization of the society on Topolobampo Bay, in Sinaloa, 
Mexico, which has been gathered by the Credit Foncier of Sinaloa , 
a paper published at Hammonton, New Jersey, at $1.00 a year. 

* Social Solutions, published in 12 parts in Lovell’s Library, price 10 cents 
each, or tlie 12 parts for $1.00. 


JOHN W. LOVELL CO., 

14 and 10 Vesey St., New York. 


Opinions of Eminent Men about 

“MOONSHINE” 

By FREDERIC ALLISON TUPPER. 


1 vol., 12mo, Loveirs library, No. 895. 20 Cents. 


JOHN G. WHITTIER says : 

“I have read thy story of ‘Moonshine’ with a great deal of interest. 1 
should judge from the book that it was written by an eye-witness of the 
scenes it so graphically describes.” 

GEN. BENJAMIN F. BUTLER says : 

“ It takes its place with ‘ Uncle Tom’s Cabin,’ Post’s story * From Ocean to 
Ocean,’ and Tourg6e’s 4 Fool’s Errand,’ in teaching the people the acts, doings, 
and feelings of each section. Accept my thanks for the book as a contribu- 
tion to the truth of history 

SENATOR JOHN SHERMAN says : 

“ I have read the book with interest and pleasure.” 

SENATOR JOHN A. LOGAN says : 

“It seems to be a well-written book so far as I have had an opportunity 
of examining it.'’ 

SENATOR GEO. B. EDMUNDS says : 

“ Scattered paragraphs that I have read interest me very much.” 
EX-SECRETARY GEO. S. BOUTWELL says : 

“I have read your novel entitled ‘Moonshine,’ with great interest. Your 
picture of Southern outrages is a truthful representation as far as it relates 
to the illicit distillation and sale of whiskey.” 


PRESS NOTICES. 

“ ‘Moonshine’ is a story, not of the moonshine of love or of nonsense, but 
of the tragic moonshine of the ‘ moonshiners.’ It is vividly told and well 
written. The hero is not the typical Northerner who used to go South and re- 
turn a more than typical Southerner ; but a Northerner rather inclined to 
Democratic and Southern ideals, who goes South and returns with no dis- 
position ever to stray again from his native heath.”— The Critic. 

“The story is well written and has power in causing impressions of its 
fidelity and in carrying convictions of its truth. It is a story that will enter- 
tain many readers.”— Boston Globe. 

“Incidentally it affords a view of political subversion in Alabama. If the 
ballot-box throughout the country were juggled with and polluted as it is in 
South Carolina, Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana, the Republic 
of the United States would be at an end. It is plain that the author writes 
as an eye-witness.”— Cincinnati Commercial Gazette. 

“A sprightly story, graphic in description, and full of exciting incidents.' 1 
— Chicago Inter-Ocean. 

“ The style is easy and graceful.”— Chicago Times. 

“ Told with much vigor and shows no little dramatic power ."—Zion's 
Herald. 

“ Full of life and incident.”— Harvard Crimson. 

“Mr. Tupper is a terse writer, clear in portrayal, elevated in sentiment, 
and graphic in description.”— Newton { Mass.) Transcript. 


.JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, Publishers, 

14 and 16 Vesey St., New York. 



“PAPA’S OWN GIRL” 

By Marie Howland. 


The manuscript of this great American Novel was 
submitted by the author to one of the ablest of our edi- 
torial critics, who, after a careful perusal, returned it with 
the following analysis of its rare excellence : 

“ As 1 think of them, the men, women and children of your story 
seem like actually living beings , whom I have met and lived with, or 
perhaps may meet to-morrow. 

“ The last half of your novd is grander than anything GEORGE 
ELIOT ever wrote. I am not , in saying this , disparaging He first 
half of the story , but this last part is a new gospel. THE COUNT 
is a creation suggested by the best qualities of the best men you have 
known. TEE SOCIAL PALACE, as you have painted it, is the 
heaven of humanity; and the best of it is, that it is a heaven capable of 
realization . ******* 8cene 0 j> 

DAN'S return, and of his meeting with MIN, is indescribably pathetic :> 
no one could read it with dry eyes, and the moral element involved is 
i more effective than in any dramatic situation in literature. With the 
true fidelity of the artist you have given perfect attention to your minor 
characters, 1 TOO SOON' for example; and I admire the tact with 
which you bring over Mrs. FOREST into sympathy with the SOCIAL 
PALACE and WOMAN'S RIGHTS. This is true ART. Your 
novel throughout meets all the great questions of the day, even the finan- 
cial one, and it is the best translation of GODIN that could be given. 
You will find a PUBLISHER, be sure of that, and THE NOVEL 
WILL BE THE GREATEST LITERARY SENSATION OF 
THE TIME." 

This powerfully written and artistic Novel is to the social 
questions now convulsing the civilized world what “Uncle 
Tom’s Cabin ” was to the slavery agitation. 


On© volume, 1 2mo, Lovell’s Library, No. 534, 
30 cents ; Cloth, 45 cents. 


OHN W. LOVELL CO., Fnblisliers, 

14 and 16 Vesey St., New York . 



OUR ROMAN PALACE 


HILDA AND I. 



B Y E. BEDELL BENJAMIN. 


One Volume, 12mo Paper, 20 cts.^ Clotli, 35 cts . 


Opinions of the Press. 


*• One of the most charming of recent novels .”— Philadelphia Item. 

“It is refined in tone, and will doubtless find many readers to welcome 
It .’’—New York Daily Graphic. 

“ The story is worth the reading, and Hilda is a character that must excite 
sympathy and admiration, especially of the S. P. C. A ."—Philadelphia Eve- 
ning Bulletin. 

“ A love story of the better class ; the tone is elevating and refined, and 
reading it is like living with nice people, and enjoying their pleasures and 
social life. It is one of the most fascinating novels we have seen for a long 
time. A real treat . ” — Portland Argus. 

“ What shall we say of a book in which is not one love story alone, but in 
which three full-fledged ones are concentered ? The author writes not only 
entertainingly, but she interweaves much that is excellent In tone and com- 
mendable in precept and example.”— Troy Whig. 

“ It is pure in tone, refined in sentiment, and with a movement sufficiently 
rapid to keep the reader interested to the very end. Some conversations on 
music show that the author understands the divine art.” —New York Evening 
Mail. 

“ ‘ Hilda and I ’ is a rest to the weary after the turbulence of recent un- 
limited folios of tragedy. It is a rich feast of pleasantness in all possible 
directions. Music, art and all charming things rise up before one in the right 
place and at the proper moment . ”—New York Home Journal. 

“ Fresh and breezy as sea air ; full of originality in plot and incident, with 
well-drawn characters, -who live and move with individuality and interest. 
The heroine, Hilda, is at once charming, and a new creation in fiction.”— 
Godey’s Magazine, Philadelphia . 

“The conversations are lively and sparkling— the characters are always 
pure and true, and, although sometimes idealized beyond the requirements of 
a realistic standard, are not unnatural. The tone of the story i3 high, and its 
moral excellent. '’—Bridgeport standard . 


JOHN W. LOVELL CO., PUBLISHERS, NEW YORE, 


The Best Utterance 


r 


LABOR QUESTION. 


“ Solutions Societies” translated by Marie Howland . 


“ Social Solutions,” a semi-monthly pamphlet, containing 
each a twelfth part of an admirable English translation of 
M. Godin’s statement of the course of study which led him 
to conceive the Social Palace at Guise, France. There is 
no question that this publication makes an era in the 
growth of the labor question. It should serve as ibe 
manual for organized labor in its present contest, since its 
teachings will as surely lead to the destruction of the wages 
system as the abolition movement lead to that of chattel 
slavery. Each number contains articles of importance, 
besides the portion of the translation. Many of these are 
translated from M. Godin’s contributions to the socialistic 
propaganda in Europe. 

Published as regular issues of the “ Lovell Library,” 
by the John W. Lovell Company, 14 and 16 Vesey Street, 
New York, N. Y., at ten cents per number; the subscrip- 
tion of $ 1.00 secures the delivery of the complete series. 


JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 


14 and 16 Vesey Street 9 


NEW YOHK. 


By thine own soul’s law, learn to live ; 

And if men thwart thee, take no heed, 
ind if men hate thee, have no care— 

Sing thou thy song, and do thy deed ; 

>£ope thou thy hope, and pray thy prayei. 

And claim no crown they will not give. 

John G. WHi-m**. 

* 


1 

f 

\ 




JUST PUBLISHED. 

INTEGRAL CO-OPERATION 


By ALBERT K. OWEN. 


A book (200 pages, 12mo) containing three plans illustrating sections and 
buildings suggested for “Pacific Colony Site,” and two maps showing 
Topolobampo Bay, Sinaloa, Mexico, including “Mochis Ranch,” the valley of 
the Rio Fuerte and its vicinage. 

Price, BO cents. Sent, postage free, by John W. Lovell Co., Nos. I, 
14 and 16 Vesey Street, New York City. 


Also, a Weekly Paper, 



Edited by MARIE and EDWARD HOWLAND. 


Hammonton, New Jersey. 

Annual Subscription, $ 1 ; six months, 50c.j three months, 25e. 

This paper (16-page pamphlet) is devoted exclusively to the propaganda ! 
for the practical application of integral-co -operation. 

While being an uncompromising exponent of Socialism, the Credit j 
Foncier urges constructive measures and counsels against destructive j 
methods. Its Colonists are to be known as “ constructionists ” and “ individ- I 
ualists ” in contradestinction to a branch of socialists who favor destruction j 
and communism. j 

The Credit Foncier presents a matured plan, with details, for farm, J 
city, factory, and clearing house ; and invites the farmer, manufacturer, 
artizan, engineer, architect, contractor, and accountant to unite and organize 
to build for themselves homes, in keeping with solidity, art, and sanitation. 

It asks for evolution and not for revolution ; for inter-dependence and not 

i for independence : for co-operation and not for competition ; for equity and 
not for equality ; for duty and not for liberty ; for employment and not for 
charity ; for eclecticism and not for dogma ; for one law and not for class 
I legislation ; for corporate management and not for political control ; for State 
responsibility for every person, at all times and in every place, and not for 
municipal irresponsibility for any person, at any time or in any place ; and 
it demands that the common interests of the citizen— the atmosphere, land, 
water, light, power, exchange, transportation, construction, sanitation, cdu* 
j cation, entertainment, insurance, production, distribution, etc., etc.— “ be 
t pooled,” and that the private life of the citizen be held sacred. 


a 



The most widely quoted Humorous Paper. 
PRICE, FIVE CENTS. 


EVERY ORE KNOWS THAT NO BRIGHTER FUN FINDS 
ITS WAY INTO PRINT THAN THAT WHICH IS TO BE 
SEEN IN ALL NEWSPAPERS, CREDITED TO T ID- BITS. 

EVERY ONE (WITH ONE EXCEPTION) KNOWS THAT TID- 
BITS IS EQUAL TO THE BEST OF THESE SAMPLES 
OF ITSELF; AND THAT IT IS CLEVER, BRIGHT AND 
WHOLESOMELY, GENUINELY HUMOROUS FROM BE- 
GINNING TO END. 

IF THE READER BE THAT EXCEPTION HE WILL DO 
HIMSELF A FAVOR IF HE INVEST FIVE CENTS IN A 
COPY OF THE PAPER, ANY WEEK; OR IF HE INVEST 
ONE CENT IN A POSTAL CARD, ON RECEIPT OF 
WHICH THE PUBLISHERS WILL MAIL A SAMPLE 

COPY. 

With its handsome typography, 

COPIOUS ILLUSTRATION 

and lively wit, at FIVE CENTS 
TID-BITS is the Cheapest Weekly Published. 


TID-BITS PUBLISHING 00., Publishers, 

14 Vesey Street, New York. 


Lovell’s Household Library. 


This admirable series of Popular Books is printed on 
heavier and larger paper than other cheap series, and is 
substantially bound in an attractive cover. 

The following have been issued to date. The best works 
of new fiction will be added as rapidly as they appear. 


1 A Wicked Girl, by M. C. Hay 25 

2 The Moonstone, by Collins 25 

3 Moths, by Ouida 25 

4 Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll, by R. L. 

Stevenson ; and Faust 25 

5 Peck’s Bad Boy and his Pa, by Geo. 

^ W. Peck 25 

Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte 25 

7 Peck’s Sunshine, by Geo. W. Peck. .25 

8 Adam Bede, by George Eliot 25 

9 Bill Nye and Boomerang, by Bill 

Nye Himself 25 

10 What Will the World Say ? 25 

11 Lime Kiln Club, by M. Quad 25 

/-12 She, by H. Rider Haggard 25 

.13 Dora Thorne, by B. M. Clay 25 

File No. 113, by E. Gaboriau 25 

J5 Phyllis, by The Duchess 25 

16 Lady Val worth’s Diamonds, and The 
Haunted Chamber, by The Duchess.25 

17 A House Party, and A Rainy June, 

by Ouida 25 

18 Set in Diamonds, by B. M. Clay 25 

19 Her Mother’s Sin, by B. M. Clay 25 

20 Other People’s Money, by Gaborifiu.25 

21 Airy Fairy Lilian, by The Duchess.. 25 

22 In Peril of His Life, by Gaboriau 25 

23 The Old Mam’selle’s Secret, by E. A. 

Marlitt 25 

24 The Guilty River and The New Mag- 

dalen, by Wilkie Collins 25 

25 John Halifax, by Miss Mulock 25 

26 Marjorie, by B. M. Clay 25 

27 Lady Audley’s Secret, by Braddon..25 

23 Peck’s Fun, by George W. Peck 25 

29 Thorns and .Orange Blossoms, by B. 

M. Clay 25 

30 East Lynne, by Mrs. Wood 25 

31 King Solomon’s Mines, by Haggard..25 

32 The Witch’s Head, by Haggard 25 

33 The Master Passion, byMarryat 25 

34 Jess, by H. Rider Haggard 25 

35 Molly Bawn, by The Duchess 25 

36 Fair Women, by Mrs. Forrester 25 

37 The Merry Men, by Stevenson 25 

33 Old Myddleton’s Money, by Hay 25 

89 Mrs. Geoffrey, by The Duchess 25 

40 Hypatia? by Rev. Charles Kingsley. . 25 

41 What Would You Do Love ? 25 

42 Eli Perkins, Wit, Humor, and Pathos.25 


43 Heart and Science, by Collins 25 

44 Baled Hay, by Bill Nye .25 

45 Harry Lorrequer, by Lever 25 

46 Called Back and Dark Days, by Hugh 

Conway 25 

47 Endymion, by Benjamin Disraeli. .. .25 

48 Claribel’s Love Story, by B.M. Clay. 25 

49 Forty Liars, by Bill Nye 25 

50 Dawn, by H. Rider Haggard 25 

51 Shadow of a Sin, and Wedded and 

Parted, by B. M. Clay 25 

52 Wee Wifie, by Rosa N. Carey 25 

53 The Dead Secret, by Collins 25 

54 Count of Monte Cristo, by Dumas... 50 

55 The Wandering Jew, by Sue 60 

56 The Mysteries of Paris, by Sue 50 

57 Middlemarch, by George Eliot 50 

58 Scottish Chiefs, by Jane Porter 50 

59 Under Two Flags, by Ouida 50 

60 David Copperfield, by Dickens 60 

61 Monsieur Lecoq, by Gaboriau 50 

62 Springhaven, by R. D. Blackmore. . .25 

63 Speeches of Henry Ward Beecher on 

the War 50 

64 A Tramp Actor 25 

65 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, by 

Jules Verne 25 

66 Tour of the World in 80 Days, by 

Jules Verne 25 

67 The Golden Hope, by Russell 25 

68 Oliver Twist, by Dickens 25 

69 Lovell’s Whim, by Shirley Smith 25 

70 Allan Quatermain, by Haggard.. .25 

71 The Great Hesper, by Frank Barrett. 25 

72 As in a Looking Glass, by F. C. 

Philips 25 

73 This Man’s Wife, by G. M. Fenn 25 

74 Sabina Zembra, by Wm. Black 25 

75 The Bag of Diamonds, by G. M. Fenn.25 

76 £10,000, by T. E. Willson . 25 

77 Red Spider, by S. Baring-Gould ... .25 

78 On the Scent, by Lady Margaret 

Majendie 25 

79 Beforehand, by T. L. Meade 25 

80 The Dean and his Daughter, by the 

author of “As in a Looking Glass.”25 

81 A Modern Circe, by The Duchess. . . .25 

82 Scheherazade, by Florence Warden.25 

83 “The Duchess,” by The Duchess... .25 


JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

14 and 16 Vesey Street, New York. 




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tions, including Facial 
Development, Hair and 
Scalp, Superfluous 
Hair, Birth Marks, 
Moles, Warts, Moth, 
Freckles, Red Nose, Acne, Black 
Heads, Scars. Pitting, and their 
treatment. Send 10c. for book of 
50 pages, 4th edition. 

Dr. JOHN H. WOODBURY, 

37 North Pearl St., Albany, N. Y. 

§ parlors— 3 for ladles. Established 1ST 0. 



— CURE-p- 

SICK H EADACHE ! 

BY USING THE GENUINE 

Dr. C. McLane’s 

LIVER PILLS 

PRICE, 25 CENTS. 

FOR SALE BY ALL DRUGGISTS. 

side wrapper from a box of the 
genuine Dr. C. McLANE’S Cele- 
brated Liver Pills, with your 
address, plainly written, and we 
will send you, by return mail, a | 
magnificent package of Chromatic 
and Oleographic HBMHI 

FLEMING BROS. 

PITTSBURGH, PA. 



Send $1.25, $2.25, 
$3.50, or $5.00 for a 
sample retail box, by 
express, prepaid, of 
the Best CANDIES 
in America. Strictly 
pure, and put up in 
elegant boxes. Suit- 
able for presents. 
Refers to all Chicago. 
Try it. Address, 

C. F. GUNTHER, 

Confectioner, 

212 State St, and 
78 Madison St., 

CHICAGO. 


HOSTETfEH’S 


STOMACH BITTERS 

HAS FOR 35 YEARS BEEN 

Adopted by Physicians and invalids, 

AS A REMEDY FOR 

Indigestion, Dyspepsia, 

Fever and Ague, Malaria, 
Neuralgia, Rheumatism, 

General Debility, 
And other KINDRED DISEASES , 

AS CONFIRMED BY 

THOUSANDS OF TESTIMONIALS IN 
OUR POSSESSION. 

A sk your Druggist for it, and take none but 

HOSTETTER’S STOMACH BITTERS. 




The treatment of many thousands of 
cases of those chronic weaknesses and 
distressing- ailments peculiar to females, 
at the Invalids’ Hotel and Surgical In- 
stitute, Buffalo, N. Y., has afforded a 
vast experience in nicely adapting- and 
thoroughly testing remedies for thb 
cure of woman’s peculiar maladies. 

Dr. Fierce’s Favorite Prescrip- 
tion is the outgrowth, or result, of this 
great and valuable experience. Thou- 
sands of testimonials received from pa- 
tients and from physicians who have 
tested it in the more aggravated and 
Gbstinate cases which had baffled their 
skill, prove it to be the most wonderful 
remedy ever devised for the relief and 
cure of suffering women. It is not re- 
commended as a “cure-all,” but as a 
most perfect Specific for woman’s 
peculiar ailments. 

As a powerful, invigorating 

tonic it imparts strength to the whole 
system, and to the uterus, or womb and 
its appendages, in particular. For over- 
worked, “worn-out,” “run-down,” de- 
bilitated teachers, milliners, dressmak- 
ers, seamstresses, “shop-girls,” house- 
keepers, nursing mothers, and feeble 
women generally, Dr. Pierce’s Favorite 
Prescription is the greatest earthly boon, 
being unequalled as an appetizing cor- 
dial and restorative tonic. It promotes 
digestion and assimilation of food, cures 
nausea, weakness of stomach, indiges- 
tion, bloating and eructations of gas. 

As a so o tiling and strengthen- 
ing nervine, “ Favorite Prescription ” 
is unequalled and is invaluable in allay- 
ing and subduing nervous excitability, 
irritability, exhaustion, prostration, hys- 
teria, spasms and other distressing, nerv- 
ous symptoms commonly attendant upon 
functional and organic disease of the 
womb. It induces refreshing sleep and 
relieves mental anxiety and despond- 
ency. 

Dr. Pierce’s Favorite Prescrip- 
tion is a legitimate medicine, 

carefully compounded by an experienc- 
ed and skillful physician, and adapted 
to woman’s delicate organization. It is 

purely vegetable in its composition and 


perfectly harmless In its effects in any 
condition of the system. < 

“Favorite Prescription 55 is a 
positive cure for the most compli- 
cated and obstinate cases of ieucorrhea, 
or “ whites,” excessive flowing at month- 
ly periods, painful menstruation, unnat- 
ural suppressions, prolapsus or falling 
of the womb, weak beck, “female weak- 
ness,” ante version, ref reversion, bearing- 
down sensations, chronic congestion, in- 
flammation and ulceration of the womb, 
inflammation, pain and tend vness in 
ovaries, accompanied with internal heat. 

In pregnancy, “Favorite Prescrip- 
tion” is a “ mother’s cordial,” relieving 
nausea, weakness of stomach and other 
distressing symptoms common to that 
condition. If its use is kept up in the 
latter months of gestation, it so prepares 
the system for delivery as to greatly 
lessen, and many times almost entirely 
do away with the suiferings of that try- 
ing ordeal. 

“ Favorite Prescription,” whei* 

taken in connection with the use of 
Dr. Pierce’s Golden Medical Discovery, 
and small laxative doses of Dr. Pierce’s 
Purgative Pellets (Little Liver Pills), 
cures Liver, Kidney and Bladder dig. 
cases. Their combined use also removes 
blood taints, and abolishes cancerous 
and scrofulous humors from the system. 

Treating tlie Wrong Disease.— 
Many times women call on their family 
physicians, suffering, as they imagine, 
one from dyspepsia, another from heart 
disease, another from liver or kidney 
disease, another from nervous exhaus- 
tion or prostration, another with pain 
here or there, and in this way they all 
present alike to themselves and tlieir 
easy-going and indifferent, or over-busy 
doctor, separate and distinct diseases, 
for which he prescribes his pills and 
potions, assuming them to be such, 
when, in reality, they are all only symp~ 
toms caused by some womb disorder. 
The physician, ignorant of the cause of 
suffering, encourages his practice until 
large bills are made. The suffering pa- 
tient gets no better, but probably worse 
by reason of the delay, wrong treatment 
and consequent complications. A prop- 
er medicine, like Dr. Pierce’s Favorite 
Prescription, directed to the cause would 
have entirely removed the disease, there- 
by dispelling all those distressing symp- 
toms, and instituting comfort instead of 
prolonged misery. 

66 Favorite Prescription” is the 
only medicine for women sold, by drug- 
gists, under a positive guarantee, 
from the manufacturers, that it will 
give satisfaction in every case, or money 
will be refunded. This guarantee has 
been printed on the bottle-wrapper, and 
faithfully carried out for many years. 
Targe bottles (100 doses) $1.00, or* 
six bottles for $5.00. 

Send ten cents in stamps for Dr. 
Pierce’s large, illustrated Treatise (160 
pages) on Diseases of Women. Address, 
World’s Dispensary Medical Association, 
]sa 668 Main stbejet, buffalo , a. k 


THE UAt SEUECTEO BY THE U. & GOVERNMENT TO CARRY THE FAST MAIL 

when You Travel 

TAKE THE 


Burlington 

Route 

C.B.&Q.R.R. 


Through Trains between CHICAGO, PEORIA* ST, LOUIS and 

DENVER, KANSAS CITY, ST. PAUL, I 

OMAHA, ATCHISON, MINNEAPOLIS, 

l COUNCIL BLUFFS, ST. JOSEPH, DUBUQUE. 

LINCOLN, TOPEKA, DES MOINES. 


Trains to and from NEW YORK, BOSTON, PHILADELPHIA, and all points EAST, connect with 
Through Trains via the Burlington Route to and from 

SAN FRANCISCO, PORTLAND, CITY OF MEXICO, 

AND ALL RESORTS IN COLORADO AND ON THE PACIFIC COAST. 


. The only railroad west of Chicago having a DOUBLE TRACK to the Mississippi River. The 
only line running THROUGH SLEEPERS between CHICAGO AND DENVER, and between CHICAGO 
AND TOPEKA. 

For tickets, rates, maps, or further information concerning the Burlington Route, apply to Ticket 
Agents of its own or connecting lines. 

HENRY B. STONE, PAUL MORTON, 

General Manager. CHICAGO. General Passenger and Ticket Agent. 


FALL DRESS GOODS. 


JAMES McCREERY & CO. 

offer, among their large assortment of Fall Dress Goods, 
t the following* Special Lines : 


Two lines Stripe and Cheek Cheviots, 44 inches wide, 
at 60 cents; worth $1. 

Also, Three lines Cheek and Stripe Suitings, 54 inches 
wide, at 75 cents ; well worth $1.25. 

ORDERS ) ft inn any part of the country will receive 
BY MAIL ) careful and prompt attention. 


James McCreery & Co., Broadway & I Ith St., 


NEW YORK CITY. 





















































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